


Ode to You

by taegyungie



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Baekhyun is a singing waiter in a jazz lounge, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, Yixing produces music, oh my, things happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 19:14:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10556262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taegyungie/pseuds/taegyungie
Summary: Yixing is greatly missing his inspiration and he really loves Baekhyun's sound.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This entire fic was an accident. As in, like, I did not intend for it to get this long and this dramatic. It started as a Chanbaek a billion years ago and then I was like eh no and rewrote it as Baekxing and it's a thousand times better this way. And listen. I hate proofreading because the more I read my fics the more boring they sound to me so pls ignore any typo/grammatical error.
> 
> Also, there's side xiuhan and junmyeon/joohyun and another pairing that I don't wanna spoil for ya
> 
> As always, feel free to comment. I'm very bad at replying but I promise you I appreciate your kind words so greatly. I'm more likely to respond on twitter (username in the notes at the end) so come find me there!
> 
> Enjoy this self-indulgent mess of feelings!

Today has been terribly long.

 

To make matters worse, the late October air is damp and chilling, freezing Yixing straight through to the bones, even beneath his overpriced coat. It’s threatening to rain, he can tell, and he sighs to himself as he makes his way down the street toward the train station. He’s glad - at the very least - that he isn't rushing for the last train of the night like he has been, lately. He’s finding it more and more difficult to meet deadlines, it seems.

 

His inspiration has run away on him. It leaves him with a heavy sense of dread low in his gut, tingling in his fingertips, weighing on his shoulders, but he's just grown so _tired_ of making music that’s all beginning to sound the same. There was once a time when he could write a song he loves and the very next day have the artists in to record, the final product put together in nothing more than a couple days. Satisfied, inspired, buzzing with creativity. Now, although his superiors and his peers keep telling him his music is good, he hasn't produced a single song he _loves_ in ages, it seems.

 

Yixing wonders when his creativity wandered off. Perhaps it was his thirtieth birthday, and his creativity decided that it was time to find solace in a younger, fresher home. He really wishes it would come back.

 

It’s then that the sky decides to open up and pour down on him. He curses to himself, upset that he hasn't an umbrella. He tries to hurry his steps, his shoulders hiked up to his ears as he attempts in vain to duck away from the rain. The train station is just too far away. He has time before the last train of the night departs the station, so he decides to wait out the rain, find somewhere warm and dry, and hope the clouds show him an ounce of mercy before he’s too late.

 

The warm, dry place he ends up in turns out to be a small, cozy, hole-in-the-wall jazz lounge he’s never even heard of before. It’s delightful. Dimly lit and smelling of imported cigars, considerably crowded as it is a friday night. He sits himself at a small table by the window, somewhat isolated, a great view of the sky outside and of the lounge around him.

 

It’s beautifully decorated. All warm, rich, deep colours. The upholstery on all the furniture in delicious merlots and hearty browns. Mahogany tables and gold trimming on everything. It’s old fashioned, tasteful, reminding Yixing of a speakeasy from the 1920s. There’s a modest stage tucked into the far end, clad with a bassist, a pianist, a drummer, and a saxophone player. Yixing smiles. It’s nice to be around something… _different._ When he’s constantly surrounded by copies of copies of copies.

 

He orders a scotch, just to warm his insides and pass the time until the rain lets up. He’s glad he chose this door of all the options he had out on the street. The music is comforting, cool, sultry. His scotch arrives and he takes a sip. It’s so smooth, so delicious.

 

For such a small, unheard-of joint, it’s certainly no dive.

 

Yixing sits and waits. He sips at his scotch slowly. He listens to the live music. He watches the ripples in the puddles outside, willing them to slow so he can catch the train home. He hears loud, infectious laughter from somewhere in the bar which draws his eyes away from the soaking asphalt and toward the sound. The source, he discovers, is a handsome, charming waiter a few tables away, winking at the patrons and chuckling as he walks away, a tray of empty glasses balanced on his forearm. Yixing watches him a moment, a tad intrigued. All the waiters are smartly dressed, sporting trendy suits and expensive haircuts. The women are in simple black dresses and neatly applied makeup. But this one waiter, he has all of Yixing’s attention.

 

His hair is overgrown, but you would never know with how perfectly it's styled off his pretty face. His smile is wide and broad as he chats with one of the bartenders, grabbing a few drinks and putting them on his tray. He’s clad in a beautiful beige tweed suit, without a sport jacket. Rather, it’s a waistcoat secured snugly over his crisp white dress shirt, amplifying the width of his chest and strength of his shoulders. Yixing brings his drink to his lips, curious, and cursing himself for not sitting at one of the tables near the middle, as that’s where this waiter seems to be serving.

 

He shrugs it off, however, turning again to watch the rain as it falls from the miserable sky. He groans quietly, desperately wishing the weather would cooperate. There’s some commotion on stage, some shuffling about, but Yixing pays it no mind, continuing to stare out the window.

 

Yixing hears the melodic scale of the piano and thinks absently that they must have switched pianists. That is, until the sound is followed by a beautiful, honeyed, tantalizing voice as it drawls out lyrics foreign to Yixing. His attention is immediately caught, and he turns to the stage to watch whoever this songbird may be. And much to his delight, there, at the piano, sits the pretty waiter from earlier, his lips pressed to the microphone and his eyelids squeezed shut as he sings so, so sweetly into the lounge. Yixing assumes his song is an original, though he doubts he'd recognize any jazz, anyway. But something about how honestly this young man is singing. Like he means it. It’s hypnotizing.

 

His voice is beautiful and warm. His voice sounds like egyptian cotton sheets on a sunday morning. His voice sounds like the low rumble of a fireplace. Raw, warm, soothing, coating Yixing’s skin in a blanket of comfort. It sticks to the roof of his mouth and settles at the nape of his neck. The melody the waiter is drawing from the piano is delightful, soft, delicate. But his lyrics are sad, nostalgic, and somehow, on top of it all, unmistakably seductive.

 

This is something very, very new. A voice like this - rough around the edges, raw, unadulterated talent - is something Yixing hasn't heard in a long time. The artists he works with are polished to perfection. Shiny and clean and uniform. This boy’s voice is a steaming cup of black coffee. No sugar, no cream. Dark and rough and strong and has room to be sweetened.

 

He brings his drink to his lips. Fuck the train. He’ll just call a cab later.

 

Yixing sits and watches the remainder of the performance. The young man is oozing with potential, his belted notes a tad too husky, only sang rarely. He sticks to his falsetto range, soft and delicate but dripping with a sense of power that Yixing is far too aware of. The lyrics of all his songs are poetic and perfect. He’s a master on the piano, rocking back and forth in his seat as he _feels_ the music he's projecting. Yixing is utterly elated. He’s so… _ecstatic_ about this set. He’s itching to involve himself. He wants to be a part of this.

 

The waiter finishes with a song about unrequited love and it breaks Yixing’s heart. He feels nostalgic, grieving over a romance he’s never experienced, and sipping at his second glass of scotch this evening, he decides that there is absolutely _no way_ he’s walking away from this joint without at least a name.

 

He stays until the place is entirely empty. It’s late, so late, and one of the bartenders comes his way to inform him the lounge is closing and he can't sit there any longer. He smiles, nods, tips generously and puts his coat back on. He doesn't mind waiting outside. The rain stopped a while ago.

 

When he steps out onto the street he's greeted with the metallic scent of fallen rain. The damp pavement reflects the colours of the neon signs above him, the entire earth in a technicolour glow. He shoves his hands in his pockets, takes a deep breath, glances around to find a figure leaning against the wall, nearby. Neatly styled hair and a trendy jacket and a cigarette cradled between two fingers. The singing waiter.

 

Yixing approaches before he can talk himself out of it. The man pays him no mind as he nears, merely tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette, watching the twinkling lights reflected in the shallow puddles at his feet. He doesn't even glance at Yixing, not when Yixing is standing close enough to smell his musky cologne under the smell of smoke, so Yixing takes it upon himself to initiate conversation.

 

“You know, you'll ruin that voice of yours if you keep smoking those things.”

 

Now, he gets his attention. Intense, hound-like eyes turn to glare at him, and Yixing is struck by how dark his irises are, reflecting the neon lights more vividly than the damp concrete beneath them. From this close he can see the subtle amount of eyeliner in the corners of his eyes, the downturn of his pretty lips and the wind-bitten shade of pink on the tip of his nose. His gaze is intense, unyielding, unashamed as he absorbs Yixing before him.

 

Then he says, “I only smoke after I perform. Loosens up my throat. It gets tight when I sing.”

 

Yixing hums. “That means you’re doing it wrong, then.”

 

Wide, studious eyes blink up at him. “What, singing?” Yixing nods his confirmation. “I think I’m doing quite alright, myself.”

 

“Oh, for sure, your voice is stunning.” Those eyes of his visibly light up at the compliment. “But I’m just saying. Those things will ruin a gift like yours.”

 

Those dark, fierce eyes of his develop a defiant glint, a sparkle of mischief behind those pretty eyelashes as he takes an exaggerated, rebellious drag from his cigarette. Yixing can’t help but chuckle at his audacity, even as the boy blows the smoke right into his face.

 

“Who gave you the final authority on _proper singing_ anyway?” The boy sneers, voice partially bitter but mostly playful.

 

Yixing smirks, closing in one step closer and leaning his shoulder against the wall. Despite the fact that he isn't much taller he feels as though he's looming, the way he’s subtly leaning into the man’s space. The other man is aware of it, too, the way he tilts his chin up defiantly and gazes up at him through thick eyelashes. He’s breathtaking, Yixing notes. Truly breathtaking. And it takes him a second to recollect himself enough to respond.

 

“I mean, I’m no _final authority_ but I have been in the business long enough to know what I'm talking about.”

 

Yixing sees something spark within the boy’s pupils. An idea, perhaps, or a realization. Yixing isn't sure. But he's distracted when pretty lips wrap around the cigarette for another prolonged drag, another puff of smoke in Yixing’s face.

 

He says, “What brings you here tonight, anyways? I know our regulars and you're a new face.”

 

Yixing smiles. “I was waiting for the last train, to avoid the rain outside. Glad I came in, though. Your music is wonderful. I couldn't take my eyes off you.”

 

Yixing soon learns that this singing waiter is a bit quick on his feet. He cocks his head to the side, curious smirk on his lips, before he says, “Listening to my music has nothing to do with _looking at me,_ you know.”

 

If Yixing blushes, he hopes it can be blamed on the bitter air outside. “You're right,” he says, “you also happen to be very pretty.”

 

The waiter doesn't smile, or show any sign of flattery. He nods, narrows his eyes, glances away to flick his cigarette to the ground and grind it into the pavement with the toe of his shoe. He clears his throat, quirking an eyebrow up at Yixing.

 

“What time is the last train?”

 

Yixing tries to read his face for a moment but finds nothing there. “Forty-five minutes ago.”

 

Now, the boy shows any sign of… _anything._ Mischief tugs at the corners of his mouth, his eyes sparkling, looking utterly pleased. A lick of his lips. “Good,” he says. “You're coming home with me.”

 

Who is Yixing to argue?

 

“Wait out here, I’ll go help them close up,” the boy is saying, stepping around Yixing toward the door. “Shouldn't be too long.”

 

“Wait,” Yixing manages to get in before the waiter is stepping through the threshold. He holds the door open as he looks over his shoulder at Yixing expectantly. “What's your name?”

 

His sly little smirk is beautiful, sure, but Yixing was not prepared for a grin so wide and so bright to be directed toward him. “I’m Baekhyun.”

 

“Baekhyun.” Yixing rolls the name around on his tongue. He likes it. “Nice to meet you, Baekhyun.”

 

“Likewise,” he says, before he's closing the door behind him.

 

\-----

 

Baekhyun’s apartment isn't particularly large, but it is beautifully furnished. In similar fashion to the lounge where he works, the furniture and decor is old-fashioned and rich. A worn, suede couch, the colour of melted chocolate takes up a majority of the living space. A modest sized television and a burgundy area rug and the countertops in the open-concept kitchen are a beautiful hunter green. There’s a piano at the far end of the living space, tucked snugly under a window. Towering bookshelves line the wall where the television is set up, and they draw Yixing to them.

 

He stares up at the top few shelves, full to bursting with aged and abused leather bound journals.

 

“I used to write,” Baekhyun says from in the kitchen. Yixing can hear the clinking of glasses but pays it no mind. “Then I realized that writing music is more fun.”

 

Yixing hums in contemplation. “A harder industry to infiltrate, though.”

 

“Not if you know the right people.” Baekhyun is right beside him, now, startling Yixing with the proximity of his low voice. He has a glass of red wine in each hand, holding one out for Yixing to take. “Unfortunately, I don't have any scotch around here. Just some pinot noir.”

 

Yixing accepts it with a small smile. So Baekhyun _had_ noticed him back at the lounge. At least enough to know what he was drinking. “This is wonderful, thank you.”

 

“So, music man,” Baekhyun says, taking a sip of his wine. “What brought you to little ol’ Korea? I’m assuming you're Chinese.”

 

The wine is delicious. Dry, heady, smooth. Baekhyun, Yixing is discovering, has impeccable taste.

 

“You would assume correctly.” Yixing finally sheds his jacket, coming to terms with the fact that he’ll be staying a while. Baekhyun takes his jacket and hangs it on a hook by the door. “I sent in demos to all the major record labels in basically every nearby country. The one I’m at now offered me the biggest salary.”

 

“Ah,” Baekhyun says, lips stained red from the wine, stepping a tad too close into Yixing’s space. “So you're a sellout.”

 

It stings. It stings because, lately, Yixing is feeling as though that is very true. He does his best to steel his expression, forcing a small smile on his lips as he stares down at Baekhyun. “I’d like to think I’m practical. It’s nice to make a healthy amount of money.”

 

Baekhyun steps back from him, observing him with careful eyes. Another generous sip of wine. A hum. “Such a wealthy, prominent man, and he still takes the train to work?”

 

Yixing laughs at that, tossing his head back and pretending he can't feel Baekhyun’s searing gaze on his throat. “I like the train. It’s good thinking time.”

 

“I understand,” Baekhyun says. He smacks his lips after a sip of wine. “So, music man-”

 

“I never introduced myself, did I?”

 

Baekhyun blinks up at him. He seemed pretty content to just call him _music man_ for the time being. Yixing hadn't even really noticed that Baekhyun didn't know his name.

 

“I,” Baekhyun starts, “well, I never really asked.”

 

“Yixing,” Yixing says and Baekhyun nods. “Zhang Yixing.”

 

“A Chinese name, after all.” Then, he steps around him and begins making his way across the living area. “Follow me.”

 

Yixing follows, of course. “You assumed I was Chinese just from my accent alone?”

 

“It’s kinda hard to miss,” Baekhyun says with a small smile. He stops in front of the piano, gesturing to the bench before him. “Sit.”

 

Yixing sits, of course. He isn't entirely sure what’s happening, but Baekhyun is pushing Yixing aside so they can both fit on the piano bench. His scent is strong - of cigars and cologne and pinot noir. His perfectly coiffed hair is beginning to falter, a crack in his infinitely cool facade. Baekhyun’s fingers hover over the keys, long, pretty, elegant. Perfect piano hands.

 

“So, _music man,_ ” he puts extra emphasis on the nickname, this time. As if knowing Yixing’s name makes him want to ignore it even more, “you can't just tell me I’ve been singing _wrong_ this whole time without showing me how to do it _right._ ”

 

Baekhyun draws a few pretty chords out of the piano and Yixing is mesmerized just watching his fingers move. “So, please. Enlighten me.”

 

Yixing composes himself, a tad hypnotized by just how _close_ this near stranger is; his thigh warm against his own, the freckle above his lip so noticeable. He watches as Baekhyun brings up a hand to tug at his tie, loosen it from around his neck and Yixing gulps, turning to the piano.

 

He plays a C note, halfway up the keys. Not too low, not to high. Something he knows Baekhyun can hit without struggle. Baekhyun gets the hint, nodding before matching the note on perfect pitch. It's pretty, sure. But there is a slight problem.

 

Yixing moves up a few keys, hitting an F. Baekhyun audibly struggles with that one.

 

“Ah, see,” Yixing says, using an index finger to tap at Baekhyun’s throat. “You're singing from here.” He moves his hand down to press flat against Baekhyun's sternum. “Try singing from here. Give your voice a more solid base.”

 

Baekhyun nods, eyes somewhat foggy with something Yixing can't decipher. His stare is too warm, Yixing finds, so he turns away and back to the keys, playing the F note again.

 

This time, Baekhyun hits the note solidly and forcefully. He knows it, too, because he finishes the note with a grin so dazzling Yixing has to blink the sparks of light from his eyes.

 

“Good. Keep doing it like that. Keep thinking about your diaphragm.”

 

They scale the piano like this. Eventually, Baekhyun gives up on his chest notes and switches into his falsetto range the higher they get up the keyboard. It’s beautiful. His voice is so sultry and sweet when sung in that part of his throat. But it's not what Yixing is looking for.

 

“Nuh uh uh, you have to hit this with your chest.” He presses the key again.

 

Baekhyun blinks at him. His cheeks are flushed from the wine and the exertion of singing such a high octave. He’s so pretty Yixing can taste it behind his teeth. “That’s an F#, music man.”

 

“Yes?” Yixing plays the note once again, quirking an eyebrow. “Think you can't do it? Think you've already ruined those lungs of yours with that nasty habit?”

 

Baekhyun's eyes narrow, that defiant glimmer returning to those irises of his. They're considerably glassy, just from one glass of wine, and Yixing finds it endearing how little alcohol it takes to fog his gaze over.

 

“Don't make me light a cigarette in my own apartment,” Baekhyun basically growls, voice low, eyes challenging. “Something about you makes me wanna… rebel.”

 

Yixing laughs, playing the note again. “I’ve noticed. Now hit the fucking note.”

 

Baekhyun raises his eyebrows, straightens his posture, feigns offence at Yixing’s potty mouth. Yixing presses the note again, just for good measure.

 

“My neighbours are gonna complain,” Baekhyun says, instead of singing. “It’s, like, two-thirty in the morning.”

 

Yixing does nothing more than press the key again, and Baekhyun rolls his eyes before hitting the note relatively well. It’s a tad unstable, but he's so full of talent Yixing doesn't think there's room in his body for any organs, any muscle, any bones. Just talent. Only talent.

 

“Good,” Yixing says with a soft smile. “That’s good, Baekhyun.”

 

Baekhyun blushes under the praise. Yixing thinks it might still be from the wine. But Baekhyun is flattered, he can tell.

 

“Play me something.”

 

Baekhyun swallows, nodding, taking a fraction too long to retract his gaze from Yixing’s face. He places his pretty fingers on the keys, clears his throat, and begins to play.

 

This song, Yixing had not heard at the lounge. It’s still unmistakably Baekhyun’s style, his voice so soft and tender and vulnerable. It’s even sadder, however, than the longing, nostalgic songs he’d performed for the crowd, and Yixing feels as though he’s intruding, sitting here, so close, so near, listening to Baekhyun sing about empty beds and cold hands. Baekhyun has never sounded more beautiful, his sweet, syrupy, sticky voice staying put in his falsetto range, occasionally dropping down for his huskiness to present itself. Yixing feels as though he's been submerged in ice, shivering, shaking, gasping for breath through closing lungs.

 

“Ah, Baekhyun,” Yixing whispers, just as Baekhyun’s voice is trailing off in a tender, sallow note that ends the song. “If you keep singing like that I just might fall in love with you.”

 

Baekhyun’s eyes widen comically. “None of that. No falling in love with me.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Yixing laughs, putting his hands up in defence. Baekhyun’s initial panic has subsided, but it's still funny to Yixing. “I promise. I won't fall in love with you.”

 

“You better not,” Baekhyun says, staring resolutely at his own hands as he plays a few chords. “I’m no fun to love.”

 

Yixing hums, watching the way the seemingly unending fire behind Baekhyun’s pupils visibly deflates. He wonders how the conversation suddenly got so honest, whether it was the wine, or the song, or the fact that it’s nearing three in the morning and the boy sitting next to him is so close he can hear his heartbeat if Yixing holds his breath.

 

“Okay, I won't fall in love with you,” Yixing says, again, “but… can I kiss you?”

 

Baekhyun stares back at him with lucid, attentive eyes. Something about the song, Yixing can tell, has left Baekhyun feeling stripped bare and vulnerable. He’s entirely out in the open, completely unguarded, and Yixing knows that when he whispers a slightly hesitant _yes_ it's because he only wants to feel some taste of warmth.

 

So Yixing closes the space, connects his lips to the pair he’s been entranced by all night. He tastes like smoke and wine. He feels, when he kisses, the same way he does when he sings; sweet, vulnerable, honest, with a subtle press of absolute power. Yixing has dissolved into putty, he knows, but he doesn't mind letting Baekhyun use his grip on Yixing’s hair to tilt his head back into the position _he_ wants it, taking Yixing’s mouth against his the way _he_ wants to do so.

 

Yixing hums, hands strong at Baekhyun’s waist, tongue warm and slick against Baekhyun’s, behind his teeth. There are thighs on either side of his own, now, a set of hips in his lap, and Yixing slides his hands down from the small of Baekhyun’s waist to the swell of Baekhyun’s ass. The younger man, with one hand in Yixing’s hair and the other cupping his jaw, moans, squirms, sends Yixing into a puddle of heat and desire and want.

 

But as Yixing squeezes his fists and slides a hand around to reach for the other’s belt, Baekhyun pulls off. His breath is rapid, ragged, hot and damp against Yixing’s mouth as he stares down at him through heavily lidded, heavily darkened eyes.

 

“None of that,” he breathes, and Yixing has to swallow around a lump in his throat. “You haven't earned it yet.”

 

Yixing smiles, amused at Baekhyun's choice of words. “Fair enough.” He isn't offended. He gets it. He really hasn't earned his way into Baekhyun’s pants, whatever that may mean.

 

Baekhyun smiles back at him, lips bruised and swollen and stretching around those sharp, bright teeth of his. He’s a little intimidating, now that Yixing’s really looking at him. Untamed and sharp, soft enough to draw you in, just for him to leave a mark.

 

“Now, music man,” Baekhyun purrs, sliding off of Yixing’s lap and into his spot from before. “You’re going to teach me how to sing perfectly, and you're going to do it now.”

 

Yixing chuckles. “You sound like you're trying to reach perfection by the end of the night.”

 

Baekhyun hums, playing a pretty little melody on his piano. “That's the goal.”

 

Yixing rolls his eyes, despite his smile. He begins scaling the piano, reminding Baekhyun to sing from his diaphragm, holding a hand against the back of Baekhyun’s ribs to ensure his posture remains erect enough for him to sing with as much force as possible. Eventually, throughout the night, he finds himself on the couch, tie loose around his neck and collar unbuttoned, doing nothing more than listening to Baekhyun as he goes through the scales on his own. He watches as the sun begins to rise, illuminating Baekhyun’s silhouette in front of the window, as he sings a note over and over until he feels he’s got it right. Yixing is exhausted, and Baekhyun sounds so beautiful, and the warmth of the sunlight drifting in through the curtains is enough to have Yixing’s eyes falling steadily shut.

 

\-----

 

When Yixing awakens, it is not in his own bed.

 

It’s not in any bed, for that matter. He’s sitting uncomfortably crookedly on an old and plush couch. His shoulder aches and his eyelids burn with every blink and as he sits up, he realizes that it was a noise that awoke him.

 

Something sizzles on a pan, dishes clang and utensils scrape. He blinks himself steady, realizing where he is and why he’s here. Why his shirt is wrinkled and clinging to him, why his belt is leaving dents in his flesh. He turns his head to see him there, the boy, the singer… Baekhyun. He’s humming to himself, flipping whatever he has in his pan. Whatever it is, it smells delicious.

 

“Finally, he awakens!” Announces Baekhyun with a perky grin. Yixing only rubs his eyes in response. Baekhyun is in an undershirt and a pair of pajama bottoms. They have puppies on them. Cute. “Hope you like cheese omelettes, music man.”

 

Yixing gets up from the couch, then, wincing at how his joints complain with every movement. He’s way too old to be crashing on couches anymore. He envies Baekhyun and his comfortable clothing, his freshly showered hair. Also his fresh, youthful face. How old is this kid?

 

“It smells delicious,” Yixing replies, a beat too late. Baekhyun notices the pause, quirking his eyebrow at him and pointing at him with a spatula.

 

“Don't go making comments about my pajamas, music man,” Baekhyun scolds. Yixing only shakes his head, eyes wide, feigning utter innocence. Baekhyun uses the spatula to point at one of the cupboards. “Be a doll and grab a couple plates, will you?”

 

Yixing does, of course. He sets them on the island, by the two adjacent stools. He has a seat, watches as Baekhyun saunters about his kitchen, pouring coffee and serving the omelettes on each plate.

 

“You know, you didn't have to make me breakfast.”

 

“I didn't,” Baekhyun says with a quirk of his brow. He turns to put the pan in the sink. “I made myself breakfast. There happened to be enough food for two.”

 

He turns back around, wiping his hands on his pants before slinking his way over into the seat next to Yixing. Yixing waits until Baekhyun takes his first mouthful before having a bite of his own.

 

“Sorry I fell asleep in the middle of your lesson last night,” Yixing says. The food is delicious, and the coffee is perfect just like that.

 

Baekhyun sneers at Yixing’s black coffee as he spoons so much sugar into his own, Yixing thinks he’ll essentially be drinking sugar. “That’s alright. It _was_ six in the morning, after all.” He takes a sip of his coffee, cringes, and adds even more sugar. “I expect you to continue our lessons, however. I plan to be the greatest vocalist of all time by next week.”

 

Yixing laughs, though he doesn't doubt for a moment that Baekhyun is capable of accomplishing such a feat.

 

It’s then that he decides to check his phone. His battery is suffering but he thinks it'll survive until he gets home. It’s already noon. He needs to be at the studio for two.

 

He also has a few missed messages from Junmyeon and Minseok, but he supposes those could wait.

 

“I have to go to work, soon,” Yixing says, shovelling another forkful into his mouth.

 

“On a Saturday? Only _I’m_ allowed to work on Saturdays. Not big-wig boss men like you.”

 

Yixing smiles around a sip of coffee. “I’m a producer, Baek. Not a big-wig boss man.”

 

“You wear a tie and sit in an office chair and make far more than I can even dream of.”

 

Yixing rolls his eyes instead of arguing. Baekhyun is pleased with the sweetness of his coffee.

 

“Do you sing tonight?” Yixing asks.

 

“I do,” Baekhyun replies with a mouthful of eggs. “Why? Do you plan on coming to cheer on your protege?”

 

Yixing chuckles. “Something like that. Mind if I bring a friend?”

 

“Not at all,” Baekhyun says pleasantly. “So long as he’s okay with leaving alone.”

 

Yixing tries not to blush at the implication of going home, once again, with Baekhyun. He knows better, knows that it’s entirely innocent, only another one of Baekhyun’s free vocal lessons. He could charge for this, but - and Baekhyun knows this - Yixing is far too invested in this boy and his sound to even dream of making any money off of him. He’s here for the art, and the art alone.

 

And, perhaps, a pair of intense, glassy eyes that stare back hazily at four in the morning.

 

\-----

 

“Okay, once more for the backing vocals,” Yixing says through the speaker, to which Jongdae nods and secures his headphones.

 

Yixing has been here for three hours, now, completing the recording for the latest single he’s been assigned to. Jongdae, the label’s pride and joy, their shining star, is due to release a new mini album within the next couple months and, naturally, Yixing’s been assigned to produce it. He doesn't mind. He loves working with Jongdae. A talented, well polished kid with a stupid sense of humour. But, especially with this single, he feels as though he’s letting Jongdae down. Jongdae, who is so talented and so full of potential to let it out, deserves far more than this lacklustre song.

 

And no matter how many times he says, “No, hyung, it’s great, hyung,” Yixing knows he thinks so, too.

 

There’s a rap on the door, startling Yixing from where he’d been staring at one of the blinking lights on the switchboard before him. He glances up to see Junmyeon peeking his head in the door and Yixing smiles at him.

 

“Am I interrupting? I can come back-”

 

“No, no,” Yixing says, glancing at Jongdae who’s still running through the song flawlessly, completely oblivious to what’s happening on the other side of the glass. “You're exactly who I wanted to talk to.”

 

Junmyeon smiles, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. Junmyeon is an interesting one. Always smiling, always happy, but when it comes to something serious, stay far out of his way. Yixing loves him dearly. The first friend he made when he moved to Korea, the friendly and warmhearted manager for the label, who immediately took Yixing under his wing, let him stand in his wedding, is always supportive of all of Yixing’s work. A good friend. And, like someone else Yixing knows, has impeccable taste.

 

“Tell me,” Junmyeon says, plopping down in the other chair and crossing an ankle over his knee, “where on earth did you wind up last night?”

 

Yixing can’t help the smile that splits his face. Jongdae finishes his run through of the backup vocals, so Yixing presses the intercom, saying, “That’s good, Dae. Take ten?”

 

Jongdae nods, taking a swig of his water before making his way out of the studio, phone in hand. Yixing turns back to Junmyeon.

 

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” Yixing says, sorting through papers instead of looking up at Junmyeon. “How would you like to go for a drink tonight?”

 

Junmyeon quirks a curious brow, scratching at his jaw with the pad of his thumb. “I’m trying to connect the dots between my question and yours, right now.”

 

Yixing laughs, leaning back in his chair and smiling conspiratorially at Junmyeon. His friend winces, knowing that look on his face, and waits patiently for Yixing to spit it out. Yixing yawns, stretches, tugs on the sleeve of his sweater. When he’d arrived to the studio that day, Jongdae was surprised to see him with damp hair and in jeans and a sweater. A cashmere sweater, mind you, but _not_ a dress shirt, all the same.

 

_It’s a Saturday,_ Yixing had replied. _Am I not allowed to dress casually on a Saturday?_

 

“I have something I want to show you,” Yixing says, finally. It’s perfectly cryptic.

 

Junmyeon, who knows Yixing like the back of his hand, immediately decodes it, anyway. “Ah,” he says, “you've found music.”

 

“Better,” Yixing replies. “I found a voice.”

 

A raised eyebrow. “A voice, huh?”

 

“You should hear this kid, Jun.” Yixing leans back in his seat, looks up at the ceiling, thinks about what Baekhyun’s voice feels like on his skin. “He’s unreal. I haven't heard anything like him.”

 

“Well, now I’m curious,” Junmyeon says. “Especially since he’s good enough to occupy your _entire_ night.”

 

“I didn't sleep with him, if that's what you're implying,” Yixing glares pointedly at Junmyeon’s suggestive expression. “No, I… I like his sound. I wanna help him.”

 

“Well, count me in. I’ll just check in with the wife, make sure she’s okay on her own this evening,” Junmyeon says, already taking his phone out of his pocket.

 

“I feel like I haven't seen her in ages.” Yixing turns back to his pages of sheet music. Maybe if he stares at them long enough he’ll figure out what’ll make it better. “How is she?”

 

“She never wants to leave the house,” Junmyeon says, returning his phone to his pocket, “says her belly is too big.”

 

Yixing chuckles, another wave of excitement rushing through him. It’s funny, he thinks, that even after seven months of this pregnancy, Yixing still hasn't gotten used to the idea of his best friend being a _father._ He remembers one night - or perhaps one _too many nights_ \- out with Junmyeon that ended with welts on the poor man’s ass - courtesy of a stripper and a genuine leather belt. To think of him as a _father_ of all things. Yixing can't quite wrap his head around.

 

Besides, all their wildest stories were always Minseok’s idea, anyway.

 

Junmyeon leaves, then, and Jongdae returns. With a stretch and a groan, Yixing gets back into the swing of things. He tells Jongdae to sing his song, and Jongdae sings it perfectly, and it sounds good. Yixing, however, feels indescribably bored.

 

\-----

 

He genuinely likes this lounge. It isn't just Baekhyun, it’s the place itself. And he can tell Junmyeon likes it too, as the second they walk in, Junmyeon is like a kid on Christmas. He glances around excitedly, taking in the tasteful decor, the smell of foreign cigars and the sound of old-fashioned music. It’s barely busier than it was last night, and even though he and Junmyeon are the youngest customers in the lounge by far, they still feel as though they fit right in.

 

Yixing finds a table near the middle of the lounge, knowing that’s where Baekhyun will most likely be serving. Once again, Yixing feels at ease in the warmth, the sound of idle chatter and of the smooth, easy melody of the live music.

 

“And you literally just stumbled in here by accident?” Junmyeon shrugs off his coat, letting it hang over the back of his chair.

 

“I know, right? Best accident I ever made.”

 

They arrived just in time for a change in set. A young man that Yixing doesn't recognize, clad in a grey suit and a neatly trimmed haircut, makes himself comfortable in a stool, mouth in front of the mic.

 

“Is that him?”

 

“No,” Yixing says, distractedly, curiously watching as this other man clears his throat, “no it isn't.”

 

Just as the man on stage begins singing, there’s a figure looming over the table. Yixing glances up to see him, Baekhyun, today in a perfectly tailored navy suit and his cheeks looking extra rosy.

 

“And what can I get you fine gentlemen, tonight?” Baekhyun says with a playful lilt to his voice. Yixing smiles up at him, immediately catching onto Baekhyun’s game of pretending to be strangers. As if he hadn't been eating breakfast with him just hours before.

 

“I’ll have a scotch, please. From the finest bottle you've got,” Yixing beams. Baekhyun quirks an eyebrow, that suggestive smirk of his ever present, leaning a hand on the table and bending subtly into Yixing’s space.

 

“A single glass of our finest costs ninety-thousand won, sir,” he says, perhaps a bit too lowly for the din of their surroundings.

 

“Sounds perfect.”

 

It takes Baekhyun a moment to think of a response. He stays there, leaning into Yixing’s bubble, even if just barely, searching Yixing’s eyes for _something._ “Why, music man. You must make even more than I thought.”

 

“Uh,” Junmyeon says, making both Yixing and Baekhyun visibly startle. For a moment, there, Yixing kinda forgot where they were. “What have you got for reds?”

 

Baekhyun perks up, back into server mode. “Depends, sir, how do you prefer your wine? Do you like it sweet? Or perhaps a bit darker?”

 

Junmyeon looks up at Baekhyun with studious eyes. To anyone, it looks like nothing, just that he’s merely weighing his options. To Yixing, however, it’s clear that he’s sizing Baekhyun up, assessing him, about to give Yixing a very detailed analysis.

 

“I’m thinking something in between.”

 

Baekhyun’s grin is so wide, so bright, and though it isn't the first time Yixing has seen it, it’s still a surprise to him that someone can be so damn stunning. “Well, I have a fantastic cabernet sauvignon that I know you’ll love. Won't be long, gentlemen.”

 

With Baekhyun’s departure, Yixing has a moment to listen to the current performer. He’s good, remarkable, even, his voice smooth and rich like dark chocolate. He’ll have to ask Baekhyun for his name later.

 

“So, I’m getting the feeling that you're interested in this kid for more than just his music.”

 

Yixing takes a second to remove his gaze from the singer on stage to look at Junmyeon, who’s assessing him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. “Whatever do you mean?”

 

Junmyeon rolls his eyes. “Don't act like I didn't just witness the two of you guys literally eyefuck each other while I was sitting right here.”

 

Yixing laughs, hoping the flush in his cheeks isn't too obvious. “Sure, he’s pretty.”

 

“He was flirting with you.”

 

“He was flirting with you, too!” Yixing pipes back. He gestures vaguely around the lounge. “Watch him tonight, he flirts with everyone. He’ll probably get up there and flirt with his _piano._ It isn't just me.”

 

It takes a moment for Junmyeon to respond and Yixing doesn't mind. He sits and he listens to the singer onstage, who is absolutely wonderful, and he thinks about how the blue pinstripes in Baekhyun’s shirt made his neck look particularly long and elegant.

 

“If you say so,” Junmyeon finally says. “He better be good. Live up to the hype. Or else I’ll start accusing you of letting your libido get in the way of your common sense.”

 

Yixing elbows his friend good naturedly. “He’s phenomenal.” It’s then that Baekhyun returns with their drinks, radiant smile on his face. “I promise.”

 

“Promise what?” Baekhyun inquires, placing their drinks on the table.

 

“That you're as fantastically talented as Yixing keeps saying you are,” Junmyeon says, ensuring that Yixing blushes furiously. “And not that he just thinks you are because you have a nice smile.”

 

“Junmyeon!”

 

Baekhyun only laughs, loudly and infectiously, as Junmyeon takes a sip of his wine. Yixing feels a bit horrified. It’s one thing for _him_ to tell Baekhyun these things. But for Baekhyun to know he’s been saying these things to his friends? That’s an entirely different field.

 

“Are you flirting with me, Ralph Lauren?” Baekhyun quips, that mischievous sparkle in his eye especially vibrant. Yixing laughs at the nickname, glancing at Junmyeon’s shirt-and-sweater combo.

 

Junmyeon shakes his head as he swallows his wine. With a smack of his lips, he says, “Oh, absolutely not. That’s Yixing’s job. The wine is delicious, by the way.”

 

Baekhyun nods his acknowledgement before turning to Yixing. “And you, music man? How’s the overpriced poison?”

 

With a smile, Yixing grabs his glass from the table, takes a sip. He hums as he feels the smooth heat drip down his throat, into his chest. “Mmm,” he hums pleasantly, “tastes like my wealth.”

 

Baekhyun laughs again, this time more of a giggle. “You’re ridiculous, you know.”

 

Before Baekhyun has the chance to leave, Yixing tilts his chin toward the stage. “He’s brilliant.”

 

Baekhyun smiles a smile Yixing hasn't seen. It’s completely soft and completely kind. “Isn't he? That’s Kyungsoo. He’ll tell you he hates me, but in truth he’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”

 

Baekhyun leaves, then, stopping at another table of older men a few tables away to pick up their empty glasses. Yixing smiles to himself, somehow completely overjoyed at the concept of Baekhyun and his friends. Perhaps it’s because Baekhyun's songs are all so lonely. It’s nice to think that he actually _does_ have people.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Junmyeon interrupts his train of thought.

 

“Nothing.” Another sip of scotch.

 

“Right,” Junmyeon scoffs, entirely unconvinced. “I know you're probably thinking about his butt.”

 

“Kim Junmyeon, when did you get so crude?”

 

Junmyeon doesn't even answer. He just laughs against the rim of his glass. Luckily, they drop the subject. The two of them chat idly and sip their drinks, catch up on the things they’ve missed. Junmyeon updates Yixing on what Minseok’s been up to - on vacation in Greece with his boyfriend, naturally. But the conversation comes back around to where it always lands. Junmyeon’s wife and future child.

 

“I’m already nervous about all the boys I’m gonna have to keep away from our front door,” Junmyeon hisses against the rim of his glass, eyes wide and brows furrowed. “You know, this morning I was looking at Joohyun who was sitting in her chair - you know, her chair by the window? - and thinking to myself… she is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And if my daughter turns out being _half_ as beautiful as her mother…” He trails off, laughing cynically and somewhat madly around a sip of wine. “I’m fucked, Yixing.”

 

Yixing laughs, a good, guttural laugh. “My condolences.”

 

Junmyeon huffs, slumping down in his seat. “I hope she looks like me.”

 

Another laugh from Yixing. A long sip of scotch. “Hate to break it to you, buddy, but you’re no eyesore, either.”

 

With a groan, Junmyeon brings his hands to his face. “I’m ruined, Yixing. This child hasn’t even been born yet and I’m already ready to rip my heart out of my chest for her.”

 

Yixing smiles, a warmth emanating from the centre of his chest. It makes him endlessly happy to see Junmyeon doing so well, loving his family so much, being such a good husband. And he’ll be a good father, too, Yixing is sure of it. He envies it, really. And he hopes to someday love something as much as Junmyeon loves this baby, loves his wife. He’s sure he will. Someday.

 

Kyungsoo had retreated from the stage a little while ago, now fluttering about the lounge, serving tables. Yixing can tell when the patrons are complimenting his performance, as his face scrunches up with a smile and his cheeks burn hot pink. He’s cute, Yixing thinks, and if Baekhyun loves him so much, he’d love to meet him. After all, Baekhyun does have impeccable taste.

 

It’s then that Baekhyun makes his way onstage. Yixing is anxious, excited, because he _knows_ how great this is going to be, and _hopes_ Junmyeon loves his music as much as Yixing does. He hasn’t a doubt that he will, since Baekhyun is, well, fantastic. And obviously putting on a show, as he dramatically scales the entire piano with nimble fingers, rocking along as he goes and smiling brilliantly at the crowd. Or, really, at Yixing.

 

Junmyeon finishes his wine just as Baekhyun begins playing the opening notes of his starting song.

 

He performs just as wonderfully as the night before. If not even better. Yixing can tell he’s more conscious of his posture, his diaphragm, and Yixing finds it fascinating how quick of a learner Baekhyun is. His high notes are more stable, his falsetto range just as delicious as before. He still forgets sometimes, though. He gets too caught up in the honesty of his music to remember to sing the technical way, retreats to old habits, just so he can _feel_ his music as much as possible. Yixing almost forgets that he’s here with someone else. Or that there’s anyone else in the lounge at all.

 

“You were right,” Junmyeon murmurs as Baekhyun wraps up the first song and moves on to the next, “he _is_ flirting with his piano.”

 

Yixing chuckles because Junmyeon isn’t wrong. Though he’s pretty sure Baekhyun is moreso _making love_ to his piano than anything.

 

Three more songs pass. Yixing is absolutely enchanted. Baekhyun is quite possibly the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, let alone the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. His glass is empty but he doesn’t want any more. He’s content to just drink in the sweet, decadent syrup that is Baekhyun’s voice, enveloping him in that sticky warmth, cutting him open with that nostalgic sense of yearning, grieving something Yixing has never experienced. He wonders if Baekhyun’s music has this effect on everyone, if everyone feels so inspired, so moved, by the gentle drawl of the piano, the subtle power in Baekhyun’s throat.

 

“He’s fantastic, Yixing,” Junmyeon finally says, tugging Yixing back to reality. “He’s truly, _truly_ amazing. Keep him.”

 

“I plan to.”

 

Junmyeon only nods, turning back to the stage, to Baekhyun. Yixing feels this inexplicable, unprecedented sense of pride over the fact that Junmyeon approves. Like Junmyeon approving of Baekhyun’s talent is like he’s approving of _Baekhyun_ which is ridiculous. It’s ridiculous because Yixing isn’t dating Baekhyun, probably won’t be dating Baekhyun, is merely taking him under his wing and guiding him with his potential, his ability to create, his ability to _make._ He’s a project. Nothing more.

 

Yixing sits through the remainder of Baekhyun’s performance, the remainder of the evening, trying to convince himself of such. And when Junmyeon announces that he’s going home, that he doesn’t want to be out too late in case Joohyun needs him, Yixing gives him a distracted wave before retreating into himself again, thinking and overthinking and thinking some more.

 

What _is it_ about Baekhyun that has Yixing so damn mesmerized?

 

When it’s nearing closing time and the lounge is mostly empty, Baekhyun sits with him, drinks all of Yixing’s second glass of 90,000 won scotch, just to taste wealth on his tongue, and Yixing doesn’t mind at all. They walk back to Baekhyun’s apartment, since he only lives a few blocks away and the night is clear and Baekhyun sings a few sweet, tender tunes that swim around in the midnight air and make Yixing feel like he’s a part of something so much bigger than just a boy and his music.

 

And instead of teaching Baekhyun anything that night, he only listens. Baekhyun sings song after song, lyrics ranging from heartbreak to inescapable lust, correcting his _own_ posture and reminding _himself_ to sing from his diaphragm, because Yixing is too caught up in the saccharine sound of Baekhyun’s beautiful voice to do anything besides soak in it. He sits and he listens and he soaks until he’s once again falling asleep on Baekhyun’s couch. And Baekhyun knows he’s falling asleep, and Baekhyun doesn’t care. He just continues to sing and play until he knows Yixing is fast asleep before he departs from his piano and calls it a night.

 

\-----

 

Yixing leaves before Baekhyun wakes up. He knows Baekhyun works evenings and needs his rest during the day, so Yixing doesn't want to disturb him when he awakens at nine in the morning, with the sun streaming steadily in through the window, his hip aching from the angle he’d been lying all night. At least he isn't in a suit and tie like the night before.

 

He doesn't want to leave without promise of seeing each other, of speaking to each other again. So, Yixing finds a piece of paper and a pen, scribbles down his number, and sneaks into Baekhyun’s room to put it on his bedside table, so it’s certain the boy will see it.

 

It’s stupidly adorable, the image of Baekhyun in slumber. His already youthful face so vernal in its neutrality, his pretty pink lips agape, his body curled in on itself. Yixing smiles to himself, tucking a stray lock of Baekhyun’s hair behind his ear and off his face, chuckling lightly at the way Baekhyun’s face scrunches at the touch, before he’s turning around and leaving the apartment entirely.

 

It’s when he’s comparing the prices of two different brands of noodles at the supermarket that he gets a message from an unknown number. It’s an image with no context, a screenshot of Yixing’s contact information in someone’s phone. The name _Music Man_ sitting bold on top. Yixing smiles at his phone and saves the contact as plain old _Baekhyun_ because he can't think of anything creative enough to put instead.

 

\-----

 

It’s Monday afternoon when he gets a call.

 

It was that morning that Yixing discovered what it was the single needed, what it was to make it _different,_ make it cool, turn it into something Yixing loves. The entire day was spent tweaking the instrumentals, adding sounds and subtracting sounds. He’s meeting Jongdae in the studio tomorrow morning to make some changes to the vocals. He’s ecstatic, excited, bouncing off the walls over the fact that his inspiration has once again knocked on his door.

 

His phone rings when he’s taking a self-proclaimed break, relaxing back in his seat and staring up at the ceiling. He grabs his phone from his pocket, smiling at the name gracing the caller ID, and putting it to his ear.

 

“Hello?”

 

“What time do you get home tonight, music man?”

 

Yixing runs a hand over his face, sighs to himself. “When I feel like I’m done for the day.”

 

“It’s four o’clock, now,” Baekhyun says. He sounds like he's chewing something. “I get off at six.”

 

“You're at the lounge on a monday afternoon?”

 

Baekhyun laughs, just as pitchy and joyous through the receiver as it is in person. “Oh, no, music man. I’ve got a day job, too.”

 

That makes more sense. Yixing glances at the clock, glances at his computer monitor. “I can be done for six. Do you want me to come to your place?”

 

“Actually,” Baekhyun says through a mouthful of food, “I received a very explicit note from one of my neighbours regarding my _‘Bad Frank Sinatra knock-offs’_ and was thinking since you live in a fancy mansion and all we won't get any noise complaints there.”

 

“I don't live in a mansion.”

 

“Regardless. Send me your address, music man, I’ll be there by seven at the latest.”

 

Yixing already knows he doesn't have much of a choice. So he agrees, hangs up, texts his address to Baekhyun, and spends the rest of the afternoon trying not to feel too excited over the fact that he’ll be seeing Baekhyun again, tonight.

 

\-----

 

Baekhyun arrives at around 7:15. He knocks loudly and emphatically and when Yixing opens the door he’s greeted by a blinding grin and the smell of freshly cooked kimbap. Baekhyun has a manila folder stacked full with worn, wrinkled papers tucked underneath one arm, the other arm toting a plastic bag of takeout.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me you live a block away from the best kimbap place is Seoul?” Baekhyun sounds downright offended, stepping around Yixing and into his apartment before he’s even properly invited inside. Yixing just shakes his head to himself, closing the door and following Baekhyun inside. “I never eat from there because I live fifteen minutes away, but now I have an excuse to eat there all the time.”

 

“Hello to you, too, Baekhyun.”

 

Baekhyun beams at him over his shoulder, placing the bag and the folder on the coffee table. “Hey, music man.”

 

He straightens up, glances around. Yixing chuckles, knowing full well that Baekhyun is about to properly snoop, never a fan of personal boundaries. His apartment isn’t particularly large, but it certainly isn’t crowded. Tastefully furnished and in a somewhat wealthier building than most of Seoul. Baekhyun wanders through the living area, touching everything he sees, looking intently at framed photos. Yixing just sits back on his couch and watches him. Baekhyun, in a smart beige suit with a pink dress shirt and chocolate brown tie. Even when he isn’t working the lounge, he’s still so well dressed.

 

“It’s nice, but…” Baekhyun says, standing in the middle of the room, looking around and appearing a tad distraught. “It feels like nobody lives here.”

 

Yixing knows what Baekhyun means. Neat stacks of magazines and a couch that’s hardly been used. It’s too clean, too sterile, too undisturbed to be considered a home, and Yixing knows it.

 

“I’m always working, it seems,” Yixing says, sinking further into the couch. “Did you want to head into the studio, or…?”

 

“You have a studio in here?” Baekhyun asks with wide eyes.

 

“Well, it’s just a room full of instruments. A bit of equipment.”

 

Baekhyun shrugs, slumping down next to Yixing on the couch. “It’s more than what I’ve got. Let’s eat first.”

 

Despite living a mere few steps away from this place, Yixing had never eaten from this particular restaurant before. Much to Baekhyun’s dismay. Baekhyun, who immediately rolled up his sleeves and practically force fed all the kimbap to Yixing, who laughed around every bite. By the time they’re finished, full and satisfied, Baekhyun’s sportcoat is long forgotten over the arm of the couch, his shirt coming untucked and his tie hanging loose around the open buttons of his collar. Yixing just cannot, for the life of him, turn away.

 

“What?” Baekhyun asks. Yixing swallows, his mouth still tasting of beef and egg, and shakes his head. “No, seriously. Do I have something on my face?”

 

Yixing’s eyes follow the movement as Baekhyun brings a hand to his face and starts wiping around his mouth. His hands are so stunning, really. So elegant and delicate and graceful in everything they do. Even brandishing a knife they would look pretty and harmless.

 

“Did you learn piano because your hands were built for it? Or was that just a coincidence?”

 

Baekhyun blinks at Yixing, drawing both of his hands up to study them. “I never really thought of it. Why? Do I have piano hands?”

 

Yixing smiles, head rolling back against the back of the couch. “You have very pretty hands.”

 

“I have very pretty everything, music man.”

 

Yixing chuckles, deciding now is a good time to look away. “Right. How silly of me.”

 

There’s a lull, a small moment of quiet between them. Yixing is content to just sit there, despite the fact that he’s clad in a dress shirt and slacks, himself. But, Baekhyun has other plans, since he’s soon scooting closer on the couch and leaning against Yixing’s side. His flesh is warm, even through layers of clothing, and Yixing thinks he could fall asleep under such comfort.

 

“So, are you gonna show me this studio, or not?”

 

It takes him a moment, but Yixing does get up, Baekhyun grabbing his folder off the coffee table before trotting along behind him. Yixing can’t see him but he knows Baekhyun is still looking around curiously, at the framed photos of Yixing’s family hanging in the hallway, at the bookshelves of encyclopaedias and first edition classic novels. It’s amusing, really, how curious Baekhyun is. How he finds excitement in mundane things. It’s no wonder Baekhyun’s inspiration is thriving so well. Everything is interesting to him.

 

Yixing had expected Baekhyun to aim straight for the piano, but instead, the boy wanders about the place, looking at everything, down to all the minute details. He plucks at a couple of strings on the bass guitar, barely a whisper of a sound coming out as it isn’t connected to an amp, and hums thoughtfully. He looks at the modest amount of equipment, fingers resting gently on the small mixing board. Yixing just watches expectantly, waiting for Baekhyun to say anything.

 

He does. “Can you play all these instruments?”

 

Yixing sits himself down on the piano bench. “The guitar and the piano, mostly. Everything else I play just well enough for it to be passable.”

 

Baekhyun thinks for a moment, studying the platinum records in frames, all the singles and albums Yixing wrote and produced that reached such levels of recognition. “Wow,” Baekhyun whispers, and Yixing’s not entirely sure what he’s referring to.

 

“Well, anyway,” Baekhyun huffs, turning back to Yixing with his eyebrows raised, holding his folder up in the air. “I brought this. It’s all stuff I’ve written and forgot about, recently written and don’t know how to play by heart yet, or things I’ve written that were never completed.”

 

Yixing holds a hand out for the folder, but Baekhyun doesn’t give it to him. He retracts his hand, understanding entirely. “Sounds like fun.”

 

There’s no sense in denying that Baekhyun’s smile is heart-stoppingly brilliant. His wide, toothy grin is enough to diminish all the breath from anyone’s lungs. But his soft, timid, subdued smile, the one where his teeth barely peek between pink lips, his rosy cheeks blushing the smallest amount, his eyes swimming in an honest sense of gratification and comfort… that’s the one that has Yixing truly struggling to breathe from miles beneath the surface.

 

They play for hours. Baekhyun even coaxes some singing out of Yixing, a song that Baekhyun swore was written as a duet. Yixing doesn’t think so, though. He thinks Baekhyun just wanted to hear him sing. He doesn’t mind, though. He’s glad to be the reason Baekhyun’s face twisted into that pleased little smile of his. It also feels good to hear his praises, as Yixing hasn’t let anyone listen to his singing voice in what feels like forever. But Baekhyun’s breathless, “your voice is like sugarcane,” is the best thing Yixing’s heard from him, yet, he thinks.

 

It’s late, so late, when Baekhyun is rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand, plucking a piece of sheet music out of the file. He reads it, studies it, while Yixing reads and studies him.

 

“This one… ah, I could just never finish it,” Baekhyun says, placing it on the music rack and playing the notes scrawled in his writing. It’s cheery, sweet, delightful, and Yixing hums his appreciation. “It’s a happy song. That’s probably why I couldn’t finish it.”

 

Yixing blinks, looking closer at the page, reading the lyrics. They’re joyous, romantic, a celebration. An ode to someone’s beauty and someone’s goodness. It cuts off after the first hook, however, left wide open and without any closure, and Yixing finds it disappointing.

 

“I can’t write a love song without it being sad, apparently,” Baekhyun bites. Yixing notices all the scribbled out lyrics for the second verse. How they suddenly all take a dark twist. About the person’s beauty and goodness being unattainable and out of reach. About… about Baekhyun not being enough. It breaks Yixing’s heart.

 

“Baek,” Yixing says and Baekhyun halts his playing, his brooding at the sheet music, and turns to face Yixing. “Why is it that your songs are all so longing?”

 

Baekhyun smiles, though it isn’t an ecstatic smile, or a mischievous smile, or any other type of Baekhyun smile Yixing has stored away into a little vault in his mind. It’s sad and it’s bitter and it’s dripping in remorse. “It’s a long story, music man.” He takes a long breath, running a hand over his tired face. “Long story short, they don’t love me back. But it’s okay.”

 

There’s a long pause in which Yixing doesn’t know what to say and Baekhyun doesn’t have anything to say. Instead, they sit there and think, and Yixing feels like he should probably hug Baekhyun, or tell him he’s beautiful, or something like that. But, soon, Baekhyun is sighing and smiling a genuine, sincere smile at the older man.

 

“I’m okay.”

 

Yixing nods, brows furrowed in concern. He decides it best to drop the subject, for the sake of the fragile nature of their developing relationship. For the fact that it’s getting far too late and when the clock strikes this hour, tongues become too honest and minds wander into dangerous territory. So Yixing breathes, stretches, pats Baekhyun’s knee.

 

“Did you want to stay here? I’d hate for you to pay for a cab.”

 

Baekhyun’s smile is small and sweet. “That would be lovely.”

 

Yixing nods, already plotting in his head which pajamas he can lend to Baekhyun, which sheets he’ll set up on the couch for him, and as he makes to get up off the bench, Baekhyun grabs his wrist and holds him in place.

 

“But first,” he says, voice smaller than Yixing has ever heard it. Baekhyun’s voice is many things. Small is not one of them. “First I… can I kiss you again?”

 

Yixing blinks, feels his jaw hit the floor, his heart jolt up into his throat.

 

“I just… I liked kissing you I- if you don’t mind-”

 

“Yes, Baek,” Yixing says. Breathes. “Yes, you can kiss me again.”

 

“Okay,” Baekhyun says, and then presses his lips to Yixing’s.

 

The kiss is different, this time. It isn’t fuelled by flame, it isn’t heated and desperate. It doesn’t taste like wine and smoke and it doesn’t feel foreign and exciting. Instead it’s sweet, grateful, vulnerable. Like instead of a distraction, it’s more like a thank you. Yixing bathes in it, holds Baekhyun’s face gently in his palms, revels in the way Baekhyun’s hands slide up and down his sides, sighing over and over again against his lips.

 

Yixing knows Baekhyun is only kissing him because he likes to feel wanted. Yixing has learned that much of the boy. But that doesn’t change the fact that Baekhyun’s kisses are utterly _electric._

 

It doesn't last very long. They kiss just long enough for Yixing to feel a little lightheaded, a little bit above himself. When Baekhyun pulls away his eyelids hang heavy, his cheeks a vibrant shade of pink. Yixing presses in for one final, brief kiss.

 

“Do you want the couch? I could give you my bed.”

 

Baekhyun laughs, just a goofy release of breath. His hands are still wrapped around the back of Yixing’s neck, around his ribs, and he’s still close enough that Yixing can count every single eyelash that frames his pretty eyes. “Wouldn't it just be easier if we share the bed?”

 

“You're not implying something, are you?”

 

Another laugh, another puff of breath in Yixing's face. “No, music man. That’s still something you haven't earned.”

 

It’s Yixing’s turn to laugh this time. “Very well. Come, let’s get ready for bed.”

 

It’s languid, the process of detangling themselves and leaving the studio. Yixing is more tired than he thought, and still a bit dizzy from the kiss. Baekhyun is sluggish, behind him, following into his bedroom and watching as Yixing digs through his wardrobe for something for Baek to wear to bed. When he finds a t-shirt and a pair of track pants, he spins around to hand them to Baekhyun, only to find the younger boy rocking where he stands, his eyes closed.

 

“Don't fall asleep before you even get in bed, now,” Yixing says with a smile.

 

Baekhyun’s eyes flutter open, and it takes Yixing a moment to find the air from his lungs. “Thanks.” He takes the proffered clothing in his hands.

 

Yixing eyes the suit Baekhyun is currently wearing with a raised eyebrow. “What is your day job, anyway?”

 

Baekhyun smiles, seemingly perking up a bit. He holds his arms out to his sides, does a little spin, models his garb. “I sell suits to rich men like you.”

 

Yixing chuckles, releasing a few more buttons from his own dress shirt before turning to the bathroom. “Fitting.”

 

By the time Yixing is finished brushing his teeth and rinsing his face, he feels so sluggish it’s almost impossible to move his limbs. He steps back into his bedroom, only to see Baekhyun already in bed, already curled up within himself, the bedside lamp still on, illuminating that pretty, restful face of his. Yixing smiles to himself, changing into his own pajamas, trying his best not to make too much noise. Baekhyun is on Yixing’s side of the bed, but that’s okay. Baekhyun hums dreamily when Yixing flicks the light off. And when Yixing slides under the covers, Baekhyun scoots in closer, drinking in Yixing’s warmth and supplying his own.

 

“Night, Baek,” he murmurs. He doesn't get a response.

 

\-----

 

Yixing awakens with his alarm at 6:30 am. He rushes to turn the alarm off before it bothers Baekhyun. Luckily, the younger boy does nothing more than grunt and bury his face further into the pillow.

 

Yixing glances at him fondly. He’s facing the other way, so all Yixing sees is the width of his shoulders and his hair sticking up at all angles. His breathing is uneven, for someone in slumber, and his throat occasionally releases these little whines. One particular yip had actually startled Yixing in the middle of the night, last night, and ended in Yixing just chuckling over himself, and the way Baekhyun is just like a little puppy, dreaming after an exciting day at the beach.

 

There’s a few messages from Jongdae on his phone. It takes a little while to decipher the actual point of the message between all the apologies, but Yixing gathers that Jongdae can't meet him until after lunch. Yixing sends him a quick reply saying that it’s fine and tosses his phone down into the sheets, staring up at the ceiling. The sun is barely rising, just a faint dusting of pink across the sky outside the window. Is he tired enough to go back to sleep? He decides not, pushing the sheets down his legs and swinging his feet onto the cold floor.

 

Yixing loves mornings. When the world is just awakening, his apartment creaking her good mornings with every step he takes. It’s quiet, peaceful, without the dread of exhaustion that filters your thoughts at night. He brews a pot of coffee, deciding to only make enough for himself. He doesn't plan on waking Baekhyun. With a steaming mug of coffee in his hand, he stands at his living room window, looking out at the city as she rubs the sleep from her eyes and stretches her limbs.

 

He thinks, standing there, watching the world below him. He thinks about how there’s far too many people out there, in this world, and that the odds of Yixing finding something as good, as substantial, as interesting as Baekhyun are slim, if anything. He’s glad he stumbled into that lounge on a rainy October evening. He’s glad Baekhyun was outside that night. Willing to take Yixing home, a complete stranger, and trust him enough to learn his music so intimately.

 

With that thought, he wanders into the studio, straight to the piano. Baekhyun’s unfinished song, his _Ode To Beauty_ as Yixing has unofficially titled it in his mind, is still on the rack. Yixing stares at it a moment, a frown etched between his brows as he swallows a particularly bitter mouthful of coffee. He sets the mug on the nearest flat surface, places his hands on the keys and begins playing.

 

He tries to be as quiet as possible, only singing the lyrics halfheartedly, just enough for him to hear how they sound. The song is truly lovely, exciting and dynamic and sweet against the roof of his mouth. He finds it a shame that it cuts off before it has the chance to become something great. He finds it a shame that Baekhyun doesn't know how to write a song with a happy ending. Even if this song is just in dedication to something, someone, worthy of admiration.

 

Baekhyun is worthy of admiration, Yixing thinks. And before he even realizes what he’s doing, he’s finding a pencil and scratching away. Baekhyun might be unable to write a song about someone’s delicacy without dipping it in self loathing. But Yixing can. He can celebrate beauty without any sense of sadness. And he does just that.

 

Just as he’s running through the song, now complete, humming to himself with a concentrated frown, ensuring that his work is complete, he feels a hand on his shoulder. Yixing startles, unaware of how long he’s been sitting here, writing, completing. He glances up to see Baekhyun, whose mouth is downturned in confusion, his hair still a mess, his eyes puffy with sleep. Yixing realizes that he’d stopped playing, not sure when exactly his fingers stopped moving. Baekhyun reaches forward, takes the sheet music from the rack, and reads.

 

His jaw is clenched tight and his brows are knit snugly together as he reads. Yixing begins to panic, thinking he may have overstepped boundaries. Baekhyun’s eyes are looking glassy as he continues. Yixing’s heart is hammering violently against his ribs.

 

Wordlessly, Baekhyun tosses the papers to the side and settles himself into Yixing’s lap. His thighs are warm on either side of Yixing’s, his hands trembling the most minuscule amount as he reaches for Yixing’s jaw, dipping down and connecting their mouths in the most wide open kiss Yixing has ever felt. Immediately, his hands find Baekhyun’s waist, his back, holding him close. The boy tastes like sleep, the remnants of his dreams, and Yixing knows he tastes like black coffee. He knows it's a taste Baekhyun hates, but he receives no complaints. No, rather, he receives heated kiss after heated kiss, like Baekhyun is trying to transfer his soul into Yixing, from one pair of lungs into the next.

 

Baekhyun slowly, slowly slinks off of Yixing’s lap, kissing his way down his jaw, his neck, his collarbone as he goes. “Thank you,” he breathes, now settled on his knees between Yixing’s thighs. Nimble hands rub up the mass of his thighs, breath hot against the fabric of his pants.

 

With a gasp, Yixing catches on. “Baek-”

 

“Shh,” Baekhyun hushes him, gazing up through heavy eyelashes and dipping his fingers below the waistband of Yixing’s pants. “You earned it.”

 

Yixing laughs, shaking his head. He’s _earned it._ It suddenly hits him that all the times Baekhyun told him he hadn't _earned_ anything yet, it wasn't a statement. It was always a promise. It still feels strange, though. Like Baekhyun’s implying that Yixing only helps because he wants _more_ from him. With a sense of panic, Yixing brings his hands to Baekhyun’s shoulders, pushing them slightly.

 

“Baek,” Yixing says, a tad breathlessly despite himself. “Baek, you don't have to. I didn't finish the song so you wou-”

 

“Oh, shut up, music man,” Baekhyun says without any venom in his tone. “I _want_ to do this. I want to say thank you.”

 

Yixing still isn't entirely convinced. But then Baekhyun rests a cheek against a thigh, blinking up at him adorably and innocently. A pretty hand slides up to rub a teasing amount of pressure against Yixing's crotch, and Yixing can't suppress the moan that catches in his throat. Baekhyun takes that as a green light, smirking that devilish, cheeky grin of his and pummelling forward at full speed. Before he knows it, his pants are pooled at his ankles, Baekhyun’s pretty mouth kissing and nipping teasingly at the tops of his thighs. Hot breath and soft lips. This will be the end of Yixing, he swears.

 

Hands tangled in dark hair. Deep, lust blown eyes staring up at him as pretty, pink, plush lips wrap delicately around the head of his hardening dick. Yixing sighs, content to sit back and watch, pet Baekhyun’s hair to supply some semblance of affection, appreciation. Baekhyun and that cute twinkle in his eye, his cute little tongue, slipping out to lick kittenishly at Yixing’s slit, the space beneath the head of his dick. It’s positively unfair, how Baekhyun can manage to look _cute_ while literally sucking Yixing off. What on earth did Yixing do to deserve this?

 

Oh, right, he finished a song.

 

Baekhyun’s mouth does many amazing things. The words he speaks are exciting and engaging and endless. The lyrics he sings are brilliant and vivid, his voice a gift from another world. His smile is dazzling. His kisses are breathtaking. But, this, Yixing thinks, this might be his favourite. Baekhyun’s mouth, slick with spit and stretched around Yixing’s growing girth, taking him all the way to the hilt with a satisfied moan, like he likes it best with something sitting heavy on his tongue. Yixing groans, fingers curling in Baekhyun’s hair, as the younger boy just keeps him there, sucking gently, running his tongue along the underside, until Yixing is achingly hard and concerned for Baekhyun’s oxygen intake.

 

When Baekhyun pulls off it's with a gasp, eyes lidded but still swimming with pride, his right hand coming up to pump Yixing’s dick while he catches his breath. Yixing whispers some sort of praise, not entirely in his right mind, and Baekhyun beams, diving back down to take Yixing in his mouth once again.

 

He’s dangerously good at it. His lips, tongue, throat all work expertly at Yixing’s dick, tugging him closer and closer to the edge of the cliff, driving him insane. The younger boy positively _gets off_ on it, moaning wantonly as he devours Yixing’s cock, basking in the way he’s making Yixing crumble above him.

 

Yixing taps on Baekhyun’s chin. “I’m close, Baek,” he breathes, sinking further into the bench, finding it more and more difficult to keep himself upright.

 

Baekhyun hums, sucking Yixing down until he’s gagging around the head of his cock, and Yixing cries out as his orgasm slams into him, his body burning hot and quivering at the sensation of Baekhyun’s throat constricting, swallowing everything Yixing has to offer. His breath is rapid, his skin is flushed, his thighs are aching.

 

“Fuck,” he grunts, rolling his head back. Baekhyun pops off with a giggle, finding solace in Yixing’s lap once again and dipping forward to kiss Yixing’s pliant and nearly unresponsive mouth. He tastes like Yixing and it should be gross, but instead it has that low simmer returning to his abdomen.

 

“Good?” Baekhyun asks, voice sweet like honey, like he didn't literally just have Yixing’s dick down his throat.

 

“Amazing,” he breathes, earning a giggle from Baekhyun. Yixing groans, hands gripping territorially at the smaller boy’s waist. “How do you do that? Act like sin but remain frustratingly adorable?”

 

Baekhyun supplies no answer. He merely shakes his head, smiling so bright it's blinding, his round little cheeks heating up to the most adorable shade of pink. Yixing just studies him a moment, wondering how the hell this developed so quickly. He doesn't entirely mind, however.

 

He glances at the clock, suddenly hyper aware of the steady beating of the sun against his window. It’s already eleven in the morning, and he needs to be at the studio shortly. He sighs, wishing he could just stay here all day with Baekhyun. Kissing Baekhyun. Maybe doing something more with Baekhyun.

 

“I need to shower,” Yixing literally pouts. Baekhyun, however, perks up in his seat.

 

“Ooh! Can I come with?”

 

Yixing smiles, Baekhyun already climbing off his lap without any confirmation. “Only if I get to return the favour,” he says, slapping Baekhyun playfully on the bum as the younger boy scampers away, giggling.

 

“Well, duh,” says Baekhyun, already pulling the t shirt off over his head.

 

The water runs cold by the time they finish showering. Of course, most of it is spent with Yixing on his knees, and then both of them diving back in for more. Yixing can't help it. Baekhyun looks so ethereal with droplets of water dripping from every one of his edges, from the ends of his shaggy hair. His warm, soft skin lathered with soap, skin so tan against the white of the suds. Who's to blame Yixing for wanting to taste and taste and taste?

 

\-----

 

“Yes, Dae! Perfect!”

 

Yixing is in such a great mood. He isn't sure if it’s from his orgasm(s) this morning, or because the song is coming together _just right,_ or because Baekhyun was off today and is waiting around for Yixing to come home. Maybe a combination of all three. But, he’s truly ecstatic about the progress he’s making on the single, the way it's suddenly all sounding right to his ears, in his chest and in his gut. His instinct is telling him that this is it, this is the platinum selling single that will define Jongdae’s accomplishments this year. It’s refreshing, to feel passionate about his work again.

 

Jongdae takes a swig of his water before exiting the recording booth and plopping into the seat beside Yixing. He smiles that all-knowing smile of his - not unlike someone else’s smile Yixing knows. He sighs dramatically, kicking his feet up onto the console, gingerly making sure he doesn't disturb any knobs or buttons.

 

“So, it’s comin’ along, huh?”

 

Yixing beams back at him. “It’s sounding great. Wanna hear it? I've tweaked the instrumentals a bit.”

 

Jongdae nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, man.”

 

It takes Yixing a moment to fiddle around on his laptop, opening the file. He hands Jongdae the headphones, feeling a jittery sense of excitement over sharing his work. He knows it's good, he’s proud of it, and once Jongdae has the headphones secure on his ears, he hits the spacebar with buzzing fingertips.

 

He can vaguely hear a muted version of his track through the headphones. Jongdae nods along, face pinched in concentration. He hums, he taps his feet. He likes it.

 

“Jazz piano,” Jongdae says, a little too loudly as the headphones are still blocking his ears. Yixing nods. “Nice touch.”

 

The track is ending soon, and Jongdae is freeing his ears of the headphones with a smile. “It’s great, hyung. Really. There’s nothing else like it on the radio.”

 

“I know, right?” Yixing says, unable to contain his smile. Jongdae just laughs shaking his head, sitting back further in his seat.

 

They don't spend much longer in the studio, and Yixing is itching to get home. He has more music waiting for him there, dextrous fingers and a viscous voice. They wrap up recording sometime mid-afternoon and Yixing is quick to pack up his things and go.

 

He’s greeted at his front door by a greedy mouth and wandering hands. Yixing accepts the touch with all willingness, nearly forgetting the bags of takeout dangling from his fingers. Baekhyun pulls away, eventually, excitedly taking the food from Yixing and immediately forgetting about the elder’s existence. He grumbles on about being starving, carrying the food into the living room, and Yixing thinks he could get used to this, coming home to share supper with rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes.

 

\-----

 

Yixing is just hopping out of the shower on a friday morning when his phone starts buzzing at the foot of his bed. He reaches for it, smiling at the name flashing on screen, as it's a name and a face he hasn't heard from in a few days. He quickly answers it, pressing it between his ear and his shoulder as he continues to get dressed.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Music man! Don't tell anyone but I've missed your company.” Yixing chuckles at that, finally securing the button on his pants. “You busy today?”

 

Yixing contemplates it. “Depends.”

 

“How would you like to go for coffee? I know a great place near mine.”

 

Yixing ponders some more. He _was_ planning on stopping by the studio today, though it isn't mandatory. The song is already mostly finished, and there’s quite a ways until the deadline. He can spare an afternoon, he supposes.

 

“I’ll be at your place in… thirty minutes?”

 

Yixing can practically _hear_ Baekhyun’s grin through the receiver. “Make it twenty.” He immediately hangs up. Yixing sighs, a tad exasperatedly. Byun Baekhyun is many things. _Exhausting_ might be at the top of the list.

 

He makes it to Baekhyun’s apartment in eighteen minutes. Baek greets him at the door with his ever so dazzling grin and Yixing quite literally gawks at him. Or, really, at the blue skinny jeans and overworn hoodie he's wearing.

 

“What?” Baekhyun cocks his head to the side, turning around to reach for his jacket and keys.

 

“I really thought your wardrobe was entirely suits.”

 

Baekhyun laughs, good and hearty, and closes the door behind him. Yixing isn't sure what it is, but his eyes are extra sparkly today, his smile extra bright, and in that outfit… Yixing can't get over how _young_ he looks. He doesn't have much longer to think, as Baekhyun is hooking his arm in the crook of Yixing’s elbow and walking with him out the apartment complex and onto the street.

 

“So where is this coffee place?”

 

Baekhyun’s smile is so brilliant, squeezing Yixing’s arm a little tighter. “It’s just a couple blocks away. My friend Chanyeol owns it.”

 

“Oh? That’s cool.”

 

Baekhyun nods, enthusiastic and eager. “My entire group of friends work there. Chanyeol refused to hire me because he thinks I’d spend more time flirting or starting food fights than actually working.”

 

Yixing hums, smiling down at Baekhyun who’s huddled up against his side in the chilly October air. “I have a feeling this Chanyeol guy knows what he’s talking about.”

 

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, though it isn't without any malice. In all honesty, Yixing is sure Baek likes being told that he’s exhausting, troublemaking, and a bit of a pain in the ass. Because everyone who ever tells him so, tells him because they love him. Baekhyun is a menace. And it’s one of his best qualities.

 

Yixing’s phone dings in his pocket, so he reaches for it to check the message as he walks. It’s a message from Junmyeon, and he can't fight the smile on his face as he reads it.

 

“What are you smiling about, music man?”

 

Yixing locks his phone and returns it to his pocket, smiling warmly down at Baekhyun, who’s gazing up at him with wide, curious eyes. “My friend and his wife had a check-up with her gyno today. He’s just letting me know her pregnancy is doing well and the baby seems healthy.”

 

Baekhyun hums, tightening his lips and turning away from Yixing to watch the road ahead of them. They dodge a few other pedestrians, one kid on a bicycle in the time it takes for Baekhyun to say anything more.

 

“Your friends with wives and kids… your friends are all grown up.”

 

Yixing chuckles. “Well, yeah, we _are_ grownups.”

 

Another hum from Baekhyun. “How old _are_ you, music man?”

 

“I’m thirty-two.”

 

“Jesus,” Baekhyun murmurs. He steers them to the left. Yixing spots a charming little coffee shop just ahead. “I’m twenty-four.”

 

“Yet you look thirteen.”

 

Baekhyun slaps him on the arm, playfully, squawking indignantly. Yixing laughs, despite these strange, dark thoughts about how Baekhyun is so young, yet far too wise for his years. Yixing thinks back to where he was at twenty-four; just starting at his current label, befriending the friendly manager and the funny publicist who sought him out at lunch every day.

 

“You look especially handsome today, music man,” Baekhyun says as they're approaching the door. He reaches out for the handle, but before opening it he says, with that mischievous flame behind his irises, “Think Chanyeol would kick us out if I blew you under the table?”

 

Despite the fact that Yixing laughs, he shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “See, this is why Chanyeol refused to hire you.”

 

With an infectious cackle, Baekhyun swings the door open and saunters in like he owns the place. But, then again, doesn't Baekhyun do that everywhere? Yixing follows, as always, and breathes in the refreshing scent of fresh coffee and baked muffins.

 

Standing behind the counter, apron slung from his neck and tied around his waist, is a man - boy? - wearing a distressingly disinterested expression on his perfect face. He’s tall, and he’s handsome, and Baekhyun practically hops in place at the sight of him.

 

“Oh, Sehunnie’s working today!” He cheers, grabbing Yixing by the hand and dragging him toward the counter.

 

The kid’s expression lightens up remarkably at the sight of Baekhyun, a cute, small smile spreading across his mouth. Yixing doesn't think he can be real. He _must_ get his eyebrows done professionally.

 

“How’s my favourite dongsaeng today?” Baekhyun leans his elbows on the counter and his chin in his hands, fluttering his eyelashes up at the younger man. Yixing chuckles at his silly behaviour. So does the kid.

 

“I’m fine, Baek,” the kid says a little tiredly. He’s already moving to mix a drink. “I know what you want but what about your friend?” He tilts his chin up at Yixing, gesturing.

 

Baekhyun suddenly seems to remember that Yixing is there. “Oh, right. Sehun, this is music man.”

 

The barista - Sehun - flashes a smile at him, grabbing a shaker of cinnamon to sprinkle onto the drink he’s assuming must be Baek’s. “Pleased to meet you, music man. Heard a lot about ya. Coffee?”

 

“Just a black coffee is fine,” Yixing says with a smile, glancing down at Baekhyun who’s beaming up at him. “And I presume you've only been hearing good things.”

 

Sehun chuckles, pouring a cup of freshly brewed coffee into a mug for Yixing. “Good, indeed. You better be treating hyung right.”

 

“Sehunnie!” Baek scolds, though Yixing is already chuckling.

 

“By the time I’m done with him his music will be all over the world, just you wait.”

 

Sehun seems pleased with this answer, smiling warmly at them as he pushes their drinks across the counter. Yixing reaches for his wallet, but Baekhyun is already grabbing the drinks and walking away, Sehun waving away Yixing’s any offer of payment.

 

“Thank you,” Yixing says, along with a curt bow. “It was lovely to meet you.”

 

“You too, music man.”

 

Yixing finds Baekhyun in a booth by the window. He’s already face first in his drink, licking at the whipped cream. Yixing should have expected for him to order hot liquid sugar. He settles in across from Baek, blowing the steam away from the surface of his own coffee.

 

“He was nice,” Yixing says.

 

Baekhyun hums, sitting up straight. There’s a strip of whipped cream on his upper lip and Yixing giggles before reaching forward to wipe it away with his thumb. Before he can pull away, Baekhyun takes his thumb between his teeth and licks the cream off, eyes smiling at Yixing knowingly.

 

“Sehun’s a good egg,” Baekhyun says once he releases Yixing’s thumb.

 

“How do you know him? Does he sing, too?”

 

Baekhyun laughs a little bit, biting at his bottom lip. “Nah, the only thing Sehun’s good for is being handsome and,” he raises his volume so the barista can hear from all the way over there, “leaving his dishes in the sink!”

 

“It was one bowl!” Sehun argues from across the cafe. Baekhyun laughs, a fond little smile splitting his lips.

 

“We’ve just known each other forever,” Baekhyun says, now low enough for just Yixing to hear. He leans back down, lips hovering over the rim of his mug. “He used to be my roommate, but then he moved in with his girlfriend.”

 

Yixing’s not entirely sure what gives it away. It could be the way Baekhyun’s eyes downcast to the surface of the table, the way the flame behind his eyes fizzles out, or the way that hint of bitterness can hardly be tasted against Baekhyun’s words. But it hits him, suddenly, that the source of all of Baekhyun’s sadness, longing, aching, is standing behind that counter. The fuel, the driving force for all of Baekhyun’s creativity, Baekhyun’s _genius_ is that clueless _kid_ wearing an apron across the room. It hurts Yixing, for it to suddenly be so palpable, so real, right in front of him.

 

“Ah,” Yixing says, a bit too deeply, too seriously than just acknowledging what Baekhyun said aloud, “I understand.”

 

Baekhyun’s smile is small and sad, running the tips of his fingers up and down the ceramic of his mug, staring out the window at the streets outside. “You’re too smart music man,” he says, “I can't keep anything from you.”

 

“It’s not a bad thing.” Yixing takes a sip of his coffee. It’s so perfect. He needs to come here more often, even if it is a little out of the way from where he lives.

 

Baekhyun turns to him, his eyes swimming with far too many thoughts and feelings for Yixing to even begin to decipher. The corners of his lips curl up, a genuine, tender smile that makes Yixing’s heart skip a beat or two. Baekhyun kicks his shin lightly under the table, more of a fond little tap than anything.

 

“You're right,” Baekhyun says, bringing his mug to his lips to take a sip. “It’s not a bad thing at all.”

 

Yixing smiles sweetly at him, unable to deny the fact that he positively adores it when Baekhyun gets like this. All soft and gentle and warm. Sure, Baekhyun is exciting, funny, enthralling. But when he’s feeling vulnerable, tender… that’s when Yixing likes him best.

 

\-----

 

“Zhang Yixing!”

 

Minseok’s speaking a little too loud into his phone, so Yixing has to actually pull his phone away from his ear, wincing. Tentatively, he returns the receiver to his ear.

 

“That’s me.”

 

“I’ve missed you, buddy! Drinks tonight, no choice, no buts, meet me and Jun at Mikkeller’s for nine.”

 

And before Yixing can argue, Minseok is hanging up. Yixing sinks into his couch, sighing, staring at his clock until five minutes go by. Sure, he’s missed Minseok. The man’s been gone for a month, and he’s sure his friend has plenty of fun stories to share about his trip. But, he dreads having to go into Gangnam on a Saturday night. Though Mikkeller’s _does_ make great drinks.

 

But, really, he was looking forward to going to see Baekhyun sing tonight. According to the boy, he’s been practicing real hard to hit those chest notes. Or so he had proudly announced before diving down to take Yixing in his mouth, this morning.

 

With - yet another - sigh, Yixing reaches for his phone to type up a quick apology and explanation to Baekhyun. Surely, he must understand that he needs to catch up with his friends. He’s in the process of getting dressed when he hears that tell-all ding from his phone. A message from Baekhyun. And then another.

 

_Greece!!? for a MONTH?!?!?!! with his boyfriend??!? ask him if he’s looking for a sugar baby for me pls_

 

_just asking for a friend_

 

Yixing rolls his eyes, writes a quick reply along the lines of calling Baek a spoiled brat.

 

When he arrives at Mikkeller’s, Junmyeon and Minseok are already settled in a booth waving him over. Yixing smiles, approaching the table, excitedly embracing Minseok as his friend greets him with a long-awaited hug. He’s just got a haircut, it seems, and Lu Han must have bought him a new cologne. He looks good. Happy, healthy.

 

“Good to see you, man,” Yixing beams, giving Minseok a final slap on the back before they're both hunkering back down in the booth.

 

“You, too,” Minseok grins, taking a sip of his old fashioned. “Greece was great and all, but I’d be lying if I said I didn't miss you guys.”

 

At that, Junmyeon and Yixing coo obnoxiously, pestering him until Minseok has to resort to violence and slap them away. The three of them laugh and chat, listening to Minseok as he yammers endlessly about Greece and the weather and the landmarks and Lu Han. Yixing can't stop smiling, overjoyed to see his friend looking so happy, and his smile only grows after his second and third drink.

 

“Okay, okay,” Yixing says, shirt somewhat unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Minseok and Junmyeon look at him expectantly. “What was the highlight of your trip? The one part that was the absolute best.”

 

Minseok smiles conspiratorially around a sip of his drink. “I’m gonna have to say...” he taps his chin, feigning a look of intense thought. “Ah, yes. When I asked Han to marry me.”

 

Yixing knows they're annoying all the other patrons around them. But who could blame them when Junmyeon and himself erupt into cheers? They shout and cheer, pound their palms against the table. Junmyeon even stands up on his seat and shouts, “My best friend is getting married!” to the entire bar. Minseok looks positively mortified from embarrassment, but he’s laughing all the same.

 

Once they - finally - settle down, Junmyeon has the balls to ask, teasingly, “he _did_ say yes, right?”

 

Minseok rolls his eyes. “Of course he did. We’ll obviously have to go somewhere else to get married. I’m thinking New York City.” He stops to take a sip of his drink, thinking. “Think Han would like New York?”

 

“You make way too much money,” Yixing teases. He tries to fight it, but he can't help the feeling of dread simmering low in his gut. Like his friends are all moving forward, starting families, making their most of their lives. And Yixing is being left behind. “Congratulations, Minseok.”

 

“Cheers!” Junmyeon announces, holding his glass out. They all clink their drinks. The sip Yixing takes is way too large for a drink this strong.

 

“Enough about me,” Minseok says once his drink is back on the table. He looks up at Yixing. “Jun told me you've found some kid.”

 

“He’s no kid,” Yixing says, staring resolutely at the rim of his glass. “He’s young, sure, but wiser than all three of us combined.”

 

“He’s exceptional on the piano,” Junmyeon says. “Great voice, too.”

 

Minseok hums, ever so observant, studying Yixing's posture with inquisitive eyes. “But you _are_ sleeping with him, right?”

 

Yixing chokes on air, taking a deliberate sip of his drink to avoid answering the question. He can feel his cheeks heating up, however, and Junmyeon positively gapes at him for a moment.

 

“Actually,” Junmyeon says, shrugging the shock off his features, “I can't say I didn't see that coming.”

 

Yixing huffs, taking another sip of his drink and trying not to blush too furiously. “I mean, we haven't gone _all the way,_ but-”

 

“You sound like a middle schooler,” Minseok snorts. “ _All the way._ You're too much.”

 

Yixing shrugs, running the tip of his finger in circles around the rim of his glass. “It’s not really anything, anyway. He’s all hung up on his non-single and most-likely-straight friend.”

 

“Ouch,” Junmyeon says. Yixing nods.

 

“I like his music. He likes to su-”

 

“Don't you dare finish that sentence!” Junmyeon shouts, covering his ears with his palms. Minseok and Yixing burst into laughter. It’s an on-running joke amongst the three of them, terrorizing the only straight man in the group. And Junmyeon makes it too easy.

 

Junmyeon eventually uncovers his ears, grumbling to himself and resolutely downing his drink. Yixing chuckles at him, a silly smile on his lips, only to glance at Minseok to see the older man staring at him in all seriousness. Yixing quirks an eyebrow, urging him to speak, and Minseok takes a breath.

 

“I know you say it’s nothing,” he says, “but be careful, yeah? If he’s really so young, you don't wanna… you know. Fuck him up too much.”

 

Yixing can't help the fond smile that paints his lips. “I mean him no harm,” Yixing says. “Also, he’s more than capable of taking care of himself.”

 

\-----

 

Yixing doesn’t see Baekhyun for another week and a half.

 

It starts when Yixing gets word from the top floor that the directors and the president of the label are all happy with the progress being made, and want to move up all of Jongdae’s deadlines. Something about an earlier comeback meaning more promo time, more time for the next comeback, and the one after that. Always ten steps ahead, those guys.

 

The studio has become Yixing’s primary home. He often finds himself falling asleep face-first in his console, waking up to get coffee and breakfast from the company cafeteria, just to return to his little hole to make more music. Like today, for example, in yesterday’s clothing, trying to convince himself he got a good night’s sleep with his torso in his favourite desk chair and his feet propped up in the other.

 

He’s glad he’s at least feeling creative, his inspiration flourishing as every button he presses, every sound he adds or deducts, he thinks about Baekhyun’s fingers dancing along the keys, the way his lips mould around that sticky voice of his to form haunting lyrics. Every note, every chord, every progression Yixing puts together, he thinks about Baekhyun. The thought is kind of frightening and very dangerous. But it’s helping him put together his best work in ages, so he’s trying not to think too hard about the implications of _everything_ until deadlines are met and he can sigh a breath for himself.

 

It can’t be said for certain how long he’s been staring at his computer monitor, entirely void of his entire body, when his phone starts ringing. He doesn’t even look at his phone as he reaches for it, answers it, presses it to his ear.

 

“Yes.” It isn’t even said as a question. Just… confirmation that he’s on the line.

 

“I’m off in an hour,” singsongs a familiar voice. Yixing actually perks up at the sound of it, suddenly feeling a little more like himself. “You at your studio still? Doing all that important work?”

 

Yixing doesn’t know why it is that Baekhyun does nothing but tease and goad, without ever making Yixing feel any ounce of upset or insecurity. If anything, Baekhyun’s permanently condescending tone is thrilling. It’s unfathomable, really.

 

“Yeah,” Yixing says, sighs. “I feel like I won’t be leaving this cave any time soon.” He’s about a quarter way through one of these songs. Jongdae’s vocals are great, easy to work with. Yixing, however, his a fucking perfectionist.

 

“Would you mind some company? Am I allowed to swing by the studio, maybe lend you some company so you don’t go entirely bonkers while holed away up there?”

 

Yixing laughs, rubbing at his eye with the heel of his hand. “Too late. I’ve gone completely mad.”

 

“Ah, that’s much more fun!” Baekhyun’s smile is audible around his syllables. “Text me the address, big shot. I’ll stop in after work.”

 

With a huff, Yixing agrees. “Yeah, sure.” He doesn’t see what harm it’ll cause. He’s been going insane the past few days, anyway. The only human contact he’s had in forty-eight hours being Junmyeon this morning, as the talent manager was grabbing himself a cup of coffee before racing off after the boygroup he manages. He’s soon hanging up, sending Baekhyun the address, calling down the front desk to let them know he’s coming, and returning to his work.

 

It feels like zero time has passed before there’s a rap of knuckles on the door. Yixing yawns, detangles himself from his seat, wincing as his joints and muscles moan and groan from the disuse. He can't believe how old he's getting, rolling his shoulders and trying to ignore how his knees pop. Perhaps he should have taken breaks to go for quick walks, or something.

 

He opens the door to a smiling Baekhyun, a sight that’s infinitely welcome. “I was just gonna come in,” Baek greets, “but the door was locked.”

 

Yixing smiles, stepping aside to let him in. “Yeah, I like to literally lock out all distractions.”

 

“Yet you let me in,” Baekhyun says with that permanent lilt to his voice, a quirk of his brow, a smirk on his lips. “Byun Baekhyun, notorious distraction.”

 

Yixing chuckles, not even bothering to argue that fact as he locks the door and settles back into his seat. Baekhyun is shedding himself of his jacket, his tie, folding them over the back of the other chair.

 

“So,” he draws out the word, making Yixing raise his eyebrows at him in curiosity. “The strangest thing just happened to me out in the hallway.”

 

“Do tell,” Yixing says, reclining in his seat, crowning his fingers behind his head to rest against. Baekhyun makes a show of admiring how his arms look in such a position.

 

“So, I’m on this floor, like the nice girl at the front desk told me to go, and I’m lost as fuck.” Baekhyun turns to look at him. “This building is huge, music man.” Yixing laughs. Baekhyun is pleased. “So I find this guy out in the hallway, he seems friendly enough so I ask which room I could find you in. I shit you not, this dude looked me up and down about four times, got this weird look in his eye and said, ‘ah, now it all makes sense.’”

 

Yixing laughs heartily, knowing full well what just happened to Baekhyun. “What did this guy look like?”

 

“Hm,” Baekhyun hums bubbly, plopping himself onto Yixing’s lap and making a show of tapping his chin as he thinks. “Around my height. Expensive haircut. Very pretty eyes. Nice thighs, the kind you just wanna-”

 

“That’s Minseok,” Yixing interrupts before Baekhyun can go into uncomfortable detail about one of Yixing’s closest friends.

 

Baekhyun perks up at that. If he had a tail, Yixing is sure it would he wagging right now. “ _That’s_ Minseok? That hottie? Like the one who just came back from Greece?”

 

“The one and only.”

 

Baekhyun cocks his head to the side, looking so cute it’s stupid. He _also_ looks so handsome it's stupid, his hair coiffed to perfection and the navy blue stripes in his dress shirt making him appear so lean and delectable. “Did he come back from Greece looking for a sugar baby, do you suppose?”

 

Yixing chuckles. This brat, he swears. “He came back from Greece engaged to be married, so I highly doubt that.”

 

“Shame,” Baekhyun sighs, but is soon changing the conversation, leaning in to get a better look at the monitor of Yixing’s laptop. “That your most recent song?”

 

Yixing hums his confirmation, leaning around Baekhyun to tap away at his computer. His other hand finds Baekhyun’s waist, easily, the warmth of the boy above him comfortable and welcome. “This one is supposed to be track number five on the album. I’m more than halfway done the album at this point.”

 

“Ooh, nice,” Baekhyun coos. He turns around, peeks over his shoulder at Yixing, smiles warmly. “You look like you haven't slept in days.”

 

Yixing groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “Don't remind me.”

 

“It’s kinda hot though,” the coquettish twist in his words physically palpable in the air between them. “It’s like that hot, totally crazy but the best fuck of your life rockstar vibe.”

 

Yixing laughs. “I’m wearing yesterday’s slacks from a _department store_ and am running off of caffeine fumes,” he says, though he squeezes his hand around Baekhyun’s waist tighter. “Not exactly the glamorous rock star life.”

 

“Tell me, music man,” Baekhyun says, turning in his seat until he’s straddling Yixing. Byun Baekhyun, notorious distraction. “Why did Minseok study me head-to-toe before saying that it _makes sense,_ hm?”

 

Yixing bites his lip to hide his smile. He can't stop looking at the way Baekhyun’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks with every blink he takes. “It _means_ he thinks you're cute.”

 

“Does he know about us?”

 

“What _about_ us?”

 

“That we’re sleeping together?”

 

Yixing pauses before answering, enjoying the way he can actually see the flame in Baekhyun’s eyes expanding, expanding. “He knows about us.” Baekhyun seems pleased about this. Perhaps he likes that Yixing talks about him to his friends. Or maybe Baekhyun just likes being _talked about_ in general. “Though, we may be sleeping together and all. But we’re not exactly fucking.”

 

It’s like he threw an entire jug of gasoline into the fire, Baekhyun’s eyes darkening and his grin widening into something almost terrifying. “Thank _god_ you were the one to bring it up.” Baekhyun dives down, meeting Yixing’s mouth with his own and immediately licking in, devouring him, stealing the breath right out of his lungs. Stealing any sense of sanity from his mind. “I may or may not,” Baekhyun breathes against Yixing’s mouth, words warped around kisses, “have been thinking about you fucking me for ages, now.”

 

Yixing groans, hands desperate at Baek’s torso, clinging on for dear life, like he’ll just disappear if he loosens his grip. Baekhyun smiles into the kiss, dipping his head down to instead mouth filthily at Yixing’s jaw, the hollow spot where it meets his neck, earning a series of soft moans from the oldest.

 

“I've missed you this past week,” Baek purrs. “Been thinking about you. Getting off thinking about you.”

 

“Baekhyun,” Yixing positively growls.

 

The younger pays it no mind. “Made myself come on my fingers, over and over, imagining it was you, instead. Your fingers, your cock-”

 

“Do you ever shut up?”

 

Baekhyun, for all he's worth, decides to _giggle,_ as if Yixing isn't already struggling as it is. “I think you like it, music man.”

 

Yixing only groans because he doesn't have an intelligible response. Or an intelligible thought in his spinning, disoriented, overheating mind. All he knows right now is lust, want, _need_ and he might go crazy if he can't touch _as much_ of Baekhyun as physically possible right this moment.

 

He’s been holed up in this room by himself for days. He deserves some one-on-one time with someone.

 

With hungry lips and even hungrier hands, Yixing pulls Baekhyun in for more kisses. He kisses like his life depends on it, his left hand squeezed tight at the nape of Baekhyun’s neck, holding him as close as possible. His right hand slides down his waist, his grip almost painfully tight, until he’s met with the plump flesh of Baekhyun’s ass, squeezing it in his fist. Baekhyun moans, a delicious, viscous sound, and Yixing drinks it up with a satisfied sigh.

 

“Greedy, aren't we?” Baekhyun teases, his arms wrapped tight around Yixing’s shoulders, a hand tangled in the hair at the crown of his head, kissing back with equal enthusiasm. “You wanna take me? Wanna bend me over right by the microphone in there?” Yixing kisses him extra hard for retaliation. “Hmm, bet you'd love it. Save that file in a protected folder for when you're feeling so bored and lonely. Listen to the way I sound when you're splitting me open so you can get yourself off. Use it when you miss me.”

 

“Baekhyun, you will talk me to death someday, I swear,” Yixing says, though he’s not necessarily complaining. He swallows down a few more kisses, pulls Baekhyun against him a little tighter before he sighs, saying, “There’s no lube here, though.”

 

Yixing was not expecting Baekhyun to smile against his lips at that. But then, he’s saying impossibly lowly, “If you eat my ass first your spit will suffice.”

 

Yixing feels every inch of his flesh burn, sizzle, tingle. His hands grip at Baekhyun’s waist, lifting subtly. “Up.”

 

Baekhyun complies without hesitation, stumbling off of Yixing’s lap and already undoing his own shirt buttons. He glances at the space beyond the glass, quirking an eyebrow in the direction of the recording booth. “Are we really?”

 

“You’re damn right, we are,” Yixing says, grabbing Baekhyun by the collar, pulling him toward the door to the booth. He makes sure to switch on the microphone before he’s shutting the soundproof door behind them, kissing Baekhyun staggeringly.

 

Baekhyun giggles, utterly giddy, clearly in a bit of shock over how quickly Yixing got so desperate. Now, he’s helping Yixing with _his_ clothing, giggling nonsense about this possibly being the best day of his life, music man.

 

Yixing can't find words to describe how good it feels to be out of yesterday's clothes. Partially because they were feeling stiff and gross. Mostly because _holy fuck_ he’s about to fuck Baekhyun in a recording studio with the microphone on. And Baek is so gorgeous, standing flush against him, his arms snaked snugly around his neck as he kisses him so deeply, so soundly, Yixing wonders if it’s more than what it seems.

 

Instead of distracting himself with thoughts, however, he pulls back just enough to nudge at Baekhyun’s hips, murmur, “all fours,” to which Baekhyun immediately obeys. He’s excited, Yixing can tell, settling his body weight onto his elbows and wiggling his bum in the air. Yixing chuckles, slaps it lightly, makes Baekhyun yelp then giggle, and Yixing is glad the atmosphere has suddenly cleared a bit from that lust-drenched fog. He feels clearer, more able to savour this, enjoy it. Listen to the way they giggle, later, when he _is_ missing Baekhyun - because that’s guaranteed to happen - and smile to himself over the fact that neither of them took this too seriously. They're just… having some fun.

 

Play time.

 

Yixing literally laughs at himself over that one.

 

“What’s so funny?” Baekhyun inquires, looking way too adorable as he peers over his shoulder at Yixing with wide eyes.

 

Yixing smiles at him, dips down to kiss the base of his spine. “Nothing, Baek,” he says. Then, in one swift motion, spreads Baekhyun’s cheeks with his hands and licks a broad stripe over his entrance.

 

The moan that Baekhyun releases is so unbelievably obscene, Yixing could almost think he’s faking it. He’s drawn moans from him before, knows how to compare them to the genuine thing, quickly learns that Baekhyun just really loves getting his ass eaten. So Yixing pushes a little harder, works his tongue a little quicker, moans and groans into Baekhyun’s flesh like it's the first meal he’s had in days. Which, given the circumstances, isn't entirely untrue.

 

Baekhyun is a mess, flushed all over and his moans sound more like sobs and he’s blubbering filthy, degraded nonsense that Yixing is paying no real mind to. The microphone is, though, and he smirks to himself, deciding to slide in a single digit along with his tongue. Just to gauge a reaction.

 

The reaction he receives is Baekhyun’s knees slipping out, a shattered cry from the boy’s lips. He catches himself, though, keeps his perfect little ass in the air for Yixing, even when his shoulders sink to the floor, his right cheek pressed against the carpet. Fuck, Yixing didn't think about the carpet.

 

He reaches blindly behind himself to find any item of clothing, sliding it over so it's under Baekhyun’s hips. It does its job, collecting the precome that's dribbling freely from the tip of his neglected cock. Yixing continues his ministrations, absorbing how delicious Baekhyun is like this, falling apart on his mouth like he’s meeting God, himself, breathless and writhing and begging for something Yixing can't even comprehend.

 

Two fingers and a tongue. Baekhyun is pleading, crying to be fucked but Yixing holds out. He wants to savour Baekhyun like this as long as he can. Vulnerable in a different way than his music is. Filthy and open and unashamed as his hips rock back onto Yixing’s mouth, Yixing’s fingers. He curls them, searching, and Baekhyun moans so heartily, it's the best note Yixing’s heard from those lips to date.

 

He just barely added a third finger to the equation when Baekhyun is forcing himself back up onto his elbows, glaring at Yixing over his shoulder and whimpering, pleading, “for the love of god just _fuck me_ already.” His eyes, pouring over with litany, glassy and hooded and Yixing can never refuse Baekhyun of anything.

 

Yixing straightens himself, positions himself, takes a deep breath. He asks, “are you clean?” Because he’s pretty sure Baekhyun is - as he’s been in love with his best friend for years and most likely tragically loyal - but he needs confirmation. It’s the right thing to do, and Yixing has a habit of doing the right thing.

 

“Y-yeah,” Baekhyun says, returning his cheek to the floor. “You?”

 

Yixing, who hasn’t slept with anyone else in nearly a year, says, “yes.”

 

He spits on his hand, slicks himself up. This isn’t the most ideal of circumstances, but with Baekhyun laid out before him like this, he finds little room for complaint. Instead, he presses the head of his dick against Baekhyun’s entrance, earning a guttural moan from the younger. Yixing is slow, careful, sheathing himself in Baekhyun’s heat, holding back from moving too fast too soon, wanting to keep this comfortable for Baek. Baek, who’s whining and writhing against the floor, agape and panting lips releasing a breathless _yes._ Then Yixing’s hips meet Baekhyun’s and he pauses, catches his breath, waits until Baekhyun is eagerly wiggling back on his cock. It doesn’t take long, and Yixing is chuckling at his impatience.

 

Baekhyun is, without a doubt, the least patient person Yixing’s ever met.

 

He exploits that fact, moving slowly when Baekhyun begs him to go faster, picking up pace and strength when Baekhyun needs to catch a break. He swims in it, the sounds of skin on skin, Baekhyun’s gorgeous, melodious pleads, Yixing’s heavy breaths and low moans. It’s perfect, so perfect, Baekhyun’s hips so round, so delicious in this position, his waist so small. Yixing traces his shape with hot hands, the dip in his spine, the divots between his ribs, the plumpness of his thighs. Baekhyun seems to love the attention, blushing more furiously than his previous sex flush and smiling subtly to himself about the silent praise.

 

So Yixing voices it. Tells him he’s pretty, he’s soft, he’s warm, he’s good. Baekhyun moans his acknowledgements, his responses, basking in whatever glory Yixing can provide. With scrambling hands and frantic yips, Yixing knows Baekhyun is nearing his peak, trying in vain to find purchase somewhere in the fibres of the carpet. So Yixing speeds up, chasing his own release, knowing it’ll send Baekhyun jolting into his. One of his wandering, praising hands slides around Baekhyun’s hip to stroke quickly at his dick, smiling at the way Baekhyun loses any sense of self, nothing but a mess of moans and shivers.

 

Baekhyun comes quickly, loudly and fully. His shoulders quake and his ribs expand and contract with laboured breath. The more Yixing watches him shake through the aftershocks, the closer Yixing reaches the edge, dipping his toes over before plummeting head first. Baekhyun remains pliant and breathless below him, egging him on and encouraging him through it with sweet, albeit filthy words. A mess of limbs and sweat and breath on the floor. Then, a small giggle from the base of Baekhyun’s ribs.

 

“Am I a great distraction, or what?”

 

Yixing chuckles in response, lying listless on the floor, half on top of Baekhyun. He raises a hand, pushes Baekhyun’s bangs off his forehead, watches as his eyelashes flutter at the attention. “Pretty fantastic.”

 

“I bet you’re gonna write about thirteen songs about my ass now, huh?”

 

“Who said I haven’t already?”

 

Baekhyun laughs, that loud, unapologetic sound that Yixing loves so much. He pats Yixing on the cheek before slowly crawling up onto his knees, finding clothes strewn about the floor. “You’re funny, music man.” Yixing grieves the loss of exposed skin as Baekhyun begins buttoning his shirt. “You gonna get back to work anytime soon, or…?”

 

Yixing supplies a slow, soft smile. “Yeah, yeah. Give me a moment to collect myself. I’m an old man, you know.”

 

“Ah, right, I forgot about your defibrillator and your arthritis. Shall I go grab your walker?”

 

“Don’t be an ass.”

 

Baekhyun laughs to himself, slipping Yixing a sneaky, devilish grin before he says, “If you are what you eat, I believe that makes _you_ the ass.”

 

Yixing just groans and covers his face with his hands.

 

\-----

 

Autumn begins crawling toward winter. The days are getting shorter and the air is getting colder. Yixing spends his days finishing Jongdae’s album and his nights with Baekhyun. They play and they sing and they write and they have sex. He spends his weekends at the jazz lounge, supporting Baekhyun and listening to him improve with every performance. He knows most of Baekhyun’s songs by heart. He also knows his coffee order at Chanyeol’s cafe by heart, his favourite wine by heart, his getting ready for work routine by heart.

 

His schedule is starting to clear up, now that the final masters for Jongdae’s album have been approved. His comeback is quickly approaching, so instead of recording, Jongdae is spending most of his time in dance rehearsals and photoshoots and MV shoots.

 

He’s bored. And by force of recent habit, he’s sitting in his studio, twiddling his thumbs. He plays around with a few tracks that came out of nowhere. He sighs and he huffs, and then he gets an idea.

 

Baekhyun answers on the third ring. “Music man. What do you want from me today, my music or my body?”

 

Yixing rolls his eyes, despite his smile. “You free tonight?”

 

“Depends what _for,_ you know.”

 

“I’m currently between projects, sitting in my recording studio, thinking it might be nice if you came over and recorded a few songs. Just for fun.”

 

There’s a long pause before Yixing receives an answer. “Are you serious?”

 

“Yeah, why not?” Yixing sits forward, leans his elbows on his knees. “Maybe make yourself a little demo, or something.”

 

Again, Baekhyun pauses. “Have I ever told you that you're the best?”

 

“You can tell me all about it when you get here.”

 

“I am on my way.”

 

It isn't long before Baekhyun shows up at the studio. It’s still funny to Yixing that Baek lives closer to where he works than _he_ does. It’s handy, though. It’s a great place to stay when he ends up working too late. And when Baekhyun arrives, Yixing has his earphones on, didn't even notice Baek come in. He’s greeted with hands on his shoulders, sliding down his arms, a kiss to the top of his head.

 

“Hey, old man,” Baekhyun says once Yixing has slid the headphones down from his ears to around his neck.

 

“Hey, Baek,” Yixing says watching as Baekhyun plops himself down in the other chair. He’s in a pair of jeans and a sweater, having shed his coat before Yixing even realized he was here, but his hair is unshowered and unkempt, his eyes rimmed red and a crease between his brow. “Wh- are you okay?”

 

Baek purses his lips, runs a hand over his face, burrows further into his hoodie like he wants to disappear. “Long day,” he says softly.

 

Yixing stares back at him, scoots closer, silently urges Baekhyun to share.

 

With a sigh, Baekhyun decides to speak. “Sehun got in a fight with his girlfriend,” he says. His shoulders sink, his usual sparkle drains. “She threw a plate at him. I… I spent the whole day on the phone with him, talking him through it.”

 

There’s a long moment where neither of them speak. Yixing’s chest feels simultaneously hollow and aching, a twist in his gut that feels like the most bitter flavour of dread. It’s unfair to Baekhyun. It’s unfair that Sehun doesn't even know the power he has. Just exactly what he's doing.

 

“What were you saying to him?” Yixing finally says.

 

“That…” Baekhyun croaks. He doesn't look up from the floor, refuses to meet Yixing’s eye. “That if he really loves her he should fix things. Think about what he did wrong. Apologize and work it out.”

 

Yixing is genuinely awestruck. The twist in his gut is replaced with a fluttering. The ache in his chest is replaced with a deep, fulfilling breath. Baekhyun might be impatient. He might be noisy and bossy and thirsty for constant attention. But he is absolutely selfless.

 

“That’s admirable of you.”

 

“I don't know why I did it,” Baekhyun says, voice strained, weak, on the verge of crying again. “I don't know why I didn't just fucking tell him to be wi- with me instead.”

 

Yixing watches Baekhyun crumble. Those beautiful, gentle hands of his covering his face as he quietly cries into his palms. His shoulders shake and he curls in on himself, and that ache returns to Yixing’s chest because Baekhyun’s heart should never, _ever_ be broken. The beautiful music that results is not worth it.

 

He reaches over, pulls Baekhyun into his lap, cradles him in his arms until Baekhyun has recovered. Yixing can't supply an answer as to why Baekhyun won't tell Sehun how he feels, but he supposes that it doesn't really matter, that it’s beside the point. Yixing just wants to be here for Baekhyun. Be a friend and a shoulder to cry on.

 

“You made my day a lot better when you called, you know,” Baekhyun murmurs, his crying subsided. “And it wasn't just your offer to record. I was… well, I was feeling pretty lonely.”

 

Yixing takes a deep breath, looking between Baekhyun’s eyes and trying to find _something_ though he isn't entirely sure what he’s looking for. He doesn't know what to say, so he brings up the only thing he knows. Music.

 

“Well, a lonely musician makes for some masterpieces.”

 

Baekhyun giggles, sniffs, wipes his nose with the back of his hand. He smiles, bright despite the sadness tucked in the corners. “Well, turn that microphone on, music man. Time to show the world what I’m made of.”

 

They get to work setting up, chatting idly about recent events in their lives, Yixing adjusting a few knobs on his mixing board while Baekhyun warms up his piano hands, playing a few chords and getting a feel for the extremely expensive equipment in this recording studio. Baekhyun yammers on, as usual, updating Yixing on how Kyungsoo’s literature grad school studies are coming along, telling him that Chanyeol sends his greetings.

 

“Oh,” Baekhyun says, just as they're about to begin. “I haven't had a cigarette in two weeks as of today.”

 

Yixing grins, still focusing on what his hands are doing with the equipment before him. “See? Told you they're unnecessary if you're singing right.”

 

Baekhyun doesn't say anything more, and Yixing takes his tiny, bashful smile as a thank you.

 

“Just so you know, we’re really not allowed to be doing this for free,” Yixing says through the microphone. Through the glass, he sees Baekhyun’s expression drop.

 

“Well, what the fuck, music man, I can't afford this!”

 

Yixing laughs, much to Baekhyun’s dismay. “Don't worry, buddy, I got this.”

 

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, sighs, asks if they're ready to go. Yixing gives him a thumbs up, secures the headphones over his ears, begins to record.

 

He plays a few songs that Yixing knows. Occasionally, Yixing will interrupt him to get him to sing another portion again, go up or down in his octave, anything to make it sound flawless. It is. Baekhyun’s voice is perfect and rapidly improving, even. Yixing listens as Baekhyun plays his piano and sings his words, plans where to add different sounds and instruments, thinks about what he could do to complete the tracks. They don't have time to record an entire album, it's only a few songs, and soon, Yixing is getting an idea.

 

“Baek,” he says over the intercom, “why is it that I’ve never heard you do a cover?”

 

Baekhyun smiles. “It’s because I write too much music. Why sing other people’s songs when I have so many of my own?”

 

“Fair enough.” He clears his throat, stretches, isn't entirely sure how long they've been at it. “Feel like giving one a shot?”

 

Baekhyun hums as he thinks. “Yeah, but you won't understand the words.”

 

Yixing smiles, knowing what Baekhyun means. Out of all the things Yixing has learned about the younger boy, one of his favourites is that the kid managed to teach himself English just by listening to all the Western jazz musicians and crooners that he loves. It’s impressive, to say the least, and he likes it when Baekhyun sings along to his Billie Holiday vinyl that he puts on when doing housework.

 

“It isn't a jazz song,” Baekhyun says. “But it's the first song I learned on the piano when I was a kid.”

 

Yixing smiles at that fact, finding it inexplicably endearing.

 

“And I’ve since been able to, you know, put together my own take on it,” he continues.

 

Yixing continues to smile, even as he’s rolling his eyes and pressing the button to speak through the intercom. “Just tell me when you’re gonna start playing so I can record.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, okay, fine.” He sits up straighter, rolls his shoulders, readies his hands. “Alright.”

 

It’s just a few keys, slowly progressing higher, lower again. Yixing frowns, seeing if he can recognize the song. It’s unfamiliar, however. But then Baek starts singing.

 

_I keep a close watch on this heart of mine_

 

_I keep my eyes wide open all the time_

 

_I keep the ends out for the tie that binds_

 

Yixing sits back in his seat, listening to Baekhyun as he pours out the lyrics as vulnerable, as hauntingly pretty as he possibly could. The tempo is slowed. The notes go down when they should go up. It turns out when Baekhyun says he put his own take on it, he means he completely rewrote it.

 

And as he sings, so softly, so sallow, so eerily, it’s perfect in every way. So unmistakably _Baekhyun_ in style and in sound and in voice. Yixing doesn't understand all the words, but he knows listening to Baekhyun sing it is breaking his heart. Especially that one line.

 

_Because you're mine_

 

Yixing understands those three words. And it’s a little bit terrifying how much those words sound like the truth. Yixing feels a little bit as though he belongs to Baekhyun, which is a dangerous thought. He surely owes a lot to the boy, the reason his inspiration came crawling back to his front door. The company he enjoys, looks forward to, misses when it's gone.

 

He made a promise to Baekhyun, however, on that rainy October night. Yixing had just turned thirty-two, a small sizzle of his inspiration sparking back to life after what felt like ages, sitting in the dim lighting of a stranger’s apartment, distracted by the curve of his mouth as he promised, wholeheartedly, that he wouldn't fall in love.

 

So, he won't. Yixing is a man of his word.

 

\-----

 

Though it’s still only early into the month, December has been kind to him so far. Alongside the arrival of winter’s sheet white wrath and twinkling lights came Jongdae’s comeback. He immediately skyrocketed to the top of the charts, Yixing’s song and album reaching number one in record time. His bank account is satisfied, his mind is satisfied. He’s glad he finally created something he could genuinely be proud of.

 

He’s also received his invitation to Minseok and Lu Han’s Christmas Eve party for this year. It’s an annual tradition, a small affair, just the group of friends together to celebrate another holiday season of friendship. This is their first Christmas party as an engaged couple, however, and Yixing is more than excited for it.

 

“You should bring Baekhyun,” Minseok had said over coffee. “I’d like to get to know that little protege of yours.”

 

It was then that Yixing realized he’s been spending an increasingly sizeable amount of time with Baekhyun’s friends. All young and full of energy with witty - though mostly inappropriate - senses of humour; a group of kids in their early twenties, calling him music man and never by his name.

 

Meanwhile, Baekhyun has only briefly met two of Yixing’s.

 

“Yeah, I’ll run it by him.”

 

He’s currently in his kitchen, chopping vegetables, listening to Baekhyun talk his ear off through the speakerphone. He’s rambling on about his day, just getting off his shift and waiting for the train to take him to Yixing’s. Yixing just listens, smiling to himself, knowing he could easily take it off speaker, let Baekhyun ramble on to no one, and the younger boy wouldn't even notice.

 

“Anyway, I’m super bummed because there’s this talent competition happening in Busan in a couple weeks and I missed the auditions.” The sounds of footsteps and of trains and people distract Yixing a moment, before he registers what Baekhyun is saying. “Kyungsoo sang in it last year and actually placed pretty high and won a shit ton of money which, like, I need-”

 

“A talent contest in Busan?” Yixing interrupts.

 

“Yeah, you know it?”

 

“Minseok is a judge every year,” Yixing says. He pours olive oil into the frying pan, the oil sizzling in response. “He’s supposed to be, like, a representative for our record label.”

 

Baekhyun takes a moment to respond while Yixing dumps the vegetables into the sizzling oil, stirring them with his spatula. “What are you implying, music man?”

 

“I can talk to him. Can't make any promises, though.”

 

“I owe you my life.”

 

“Quit being dramatic and get over here. When’s the last time you ate a vegetable?”

 

“A what?”

 

Yixing rolls his eyes, laughing as he hangs up before giving Baekhyun the satisfaction of a response to that question. He immediately finds Minseok in his favourites, pressing the call button.

 

“This better be important,” Minseok says, barely beating the voicemail after a few rings, “I was just making out with my fiancé.”

 

“Think you can use your powers to squeeze in an extra act on the seventeenth?” Yixing says, pointedly ignoring Minseok’s earlier statement.

 

Minseok coos on the other end of the line. He can hear Lu Han in the background whisper-yelling, “what? Who is it? Minseok!” before Minseok drawals a very condescending, “This wouldn’t happen to be in relation to the amount of ass you’re getting, hm?”

 

Yixing rolls his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time that day. “No, I just really think he deserves this.”

 

Minseok sighs. “Listen, I can’t get him in without some form of audition. I’ve heard from you _and_ Jun that he’s great, and all, but I have nothing to work off of, if I’m going to recommend him to the producers.”

 

Yixing hums, chewing on his bottom lip, frowning down at his frying pan of sauteed vegetables. He can physically feel the lightbulb go off in his head. “I have a folder on my computer,” he says. He moves to go grab his laptop immediately, but remembers he has water boiling and food cooking. “It’s just a couple of songs, a little demo. I can send you a copy.”

 

“Slow down, tiger,” Minseok teases, his grin audible through the receiver. “That works. I’ll see what I can do. Tell the kid to pick the song he’ll be performing and get rehearsing.”

 

“Kim Miseok,” Yixing says, unable to control the grin spreading across his face, digging dimples into his cheeks, “have I ever told you that I love you?”

 

“Sorry, Xing, I’m a claimed man,” Minseok chuckles. Yixing, once again, rolls his eyes. “Remember, he’s gotta pick his song quick. It’s tough competition.”

 

“Sure thing.”

 

Two weeks later, Baekhyun still hasn’t chosen his song. He flips through sheet music, chewing nervously on his bottom lip as he sits cross-legged in Yixing’s car, anxiously trying to choose which song to perform tomorrow afternoon. Two weeks, he’s had. Two weeks since Minseok passed along the approval.

 

Yet, this morning, when Baekhyun followed Yixing down to his building’s parking garage with his luggage in tow, Yixing had asked him which song he decided to perform and Baekhyun only furrowed his brow and responded with, “Why do you take the train if you have a car?”

 

And Yixing responded with, “I told you, the train helps me think. Anyway, what song are you gonna sing?”

 

And Baekhyun didn’t answer him. And Yixing took that as an answer, anyway, knowing full well what the purse of Baekhyun’s lips meant.

 

“I kinda wanna sing this one,” Baekhyun says, now, about an hour out of the city, holding up a page of sheet music even though Yixing is looking at the road. “But, it’s pretty sad. Don’t really wanna bum out the audience.”

 

Yixing laughs, signalling to get into the other lane. The car is quiet for a moment, nothing but the quiet whirr of the radio, which neither of them are really listening to. “Make the judges cry and it’ll be more memorable.”

 

“True, but…” Baekhyun shrugs, trails off. He continues sifting through his papers, occasionally releasing thoughtful little hums. “Oh, maybe the happy song that we wrote together!”

 

Yixing glances at Baekhyun, smiling. “The _Ode to Beauty?”_

 

Baekhyun laughs. “That’s what you’ve called it?” Yixing nods, cheeks hurting from smiling so hard. “Cute, I like it. Perhaps I’ll make it more general, though.” Baekhyun sticks his thumb in his mouth, frowning at the sheet music while he nibbles at his nail, deep in thought. “I’ll call it _Ode to You,_ that way I’m telling every listener that they hold the puppet strings to the corners of my mouth to make me smile.”

 

Yixing chuckles, shaking his head. “How romantic of you, you little charmer.” He steals another glance at Baekhyun, caught off guard when he’s met with an incredibly earnest smile from the younger. “I do love that lyric, though.”

 

“You love all my lyrics.”

 

Yixing shrugs. “That’s true.”

 

“Wait, shut up, I love this song,” Baekhyun shushes. He turns up the volume on the radio and a shit-eating grin spreads across Yixing’s face. It’s Jongdae’s latest single, Yixing’s blood, sweat, and tears. Baekhyun sings along, nods along, taps his fingers against his knees to the rhythm. He has no idea. Yixing is strangely ecstatic over such a fact.

 

“Isn’t this song just _so_ good?” Baekhyun turns to Yixing, eyes sparkling with excitement. “The whole album is. I’ve fallen asleep to it on repeat for the past, like, three days.”

 

“Thank you,” Yixing says simply.

 

He doesn’t have to look to know Baekhyun is blinking at him with wide, curious eyes.

 

Yixing laughs. “You know that project I holed myself up in my studio for?”

 

It takes Baekhyun a moment to register, until he’s practically leaping in his seat. “Oh my god! Wait, _you’re_ Lay?”

 

“Yeah, I, uh, wanted to produce under a pseudonym. Keep my feelings anonymous.” A luxury Baekhyun never chose. Baekhyun is very open about the emotions he pours into lyrics and into piano keys. Yixing could just never do it. Spread his ribs open for anyone to crawl inside.

 

“Music man, I have been your fan for _years_ and I never even knew it was you!” He’s practically vibrating at this point, buzzing with excitement over this realization, bouncing around in his seat uncontrollably.

 

Yixing chuckles exasperatedly at him, reaching over to put a hand on his thigh and give it a brief squeeze. “Sit still, Baekhyunnie,” he says, “you’re distracting me.”

 

Baekhyun does as he’s asked, even if only for a fleeting moment. Yixing knows he’s in for trouble the minute he spots Baekhyun’s mischievous little grin from the corner of his eye, that troublemaking glint in his dark irises. Yixing sighs to himself, even before he feels a hand ghosting up the inseam of his pants.

 

“Baek,” he warns.

 

“Hm?” Baekhyun hums, feigning innocence. Yixing has to clench his jaw, his fists around the steering wheel, as Baekhyun grazes deft fingers over the zipper, the bulge that’s already threatening to harden. Honestly, damn Byun Baekhyun. He’s insufferable, truly.

 

“Baekhyun, I’m driving.”

 

“But I’m booooored,” Baekhyun whines, nimble fingers releasing the button of Yixing’s trousers, sliding the zipper down. Yixing rolls his eyes, surrendering, thanking the heavens that traffic is surprisingly pretty clear where they are. A hand slides its way between his briefs and his pants, palming hotly at Yixing’s dick. He hisses, jumps in his seat a bit, shoots Baekhyun a pointed glare, which is reciprocated by a pout and a squeeze.

 

Yixing groans, curses under his breath, and Baekhyun leans over to press a kiss to Yixing’s shoulder. “Play with me,” he whines, nuzzling his face into the fabric covering Yixing’s arm.

 

He tries to hold up, he really does. He’d like to think he has _some_ semblance of self control, but after so long, the strain against his briefs as Baekhyun palms him relentlessly becomes too difficult to ignore. Turning on the hazards, Yixing curses under his breath - though it’s mostly directed at Baekhyun - and pulls off to the side of the road, throwing the gear into park.

 

Turning to Baekhyun, he sees the excitement in Baekhyun’s wide eyes, the younger smiling triumphantly at Yixing. “Backseat,” Yixing says. Baekhyun is already out of his seatbelt and scrambling into the backseat before Yixing can even say, “now.”

 

They’re a mess of limbs, trying to undress each other in such a cramped amount of space. Baekhyun seems to love it, love having to be so tangled up, constantly pressed close to one another. Baek’s mouth has become memory, at this point, a familiar shape and taste against Yixing’s own as they wriggle out of their clothes. Baekhyun grabs a travel-sized bottle of lube from the pocket in the back of the seat, which, Yixing figures, he must have put in there without Yixing noticing before they departed.

 

“Sit back,” Baekhyun breathes, pushing at Yixing’s chest until he’s seated in the middle of the seat, thighs spread, back against the backrest. He rolls his head back, looking at Baekhyun through hooded lashes, bringing his hands up to grip possessively at his dainty waist. “Let me ride you.”

 

“Mmm,” Yixing replies, already too turned on from Baekhyun’s earlier _heavy petting_ to say much. Not like he has much complaint, anyway.

 

He watches as Baekhyun slicks up his own fingers, admires the flush across his chest, the bangs that fall into his eyes when his hair isn’t styled back, all soft and fluffy and Yixing doesn’t even think before a hand slides up his torso, neck, jawline, to run his fingers through his hair. Baekhyun leans into the touch, not unlike a puppy, ever, always keening under praise and scratches behind his ear. Yixing smiles fondly, trying hard to ignore the warmth in his chest, distracting himself with the image of Baekhyun’s stomach contracting as he sinks himself down onto two fingers.

 

Baekhyun, for all his impatience, is efficient. He stretches himself quickly and expertly, and Yixing has no sense in denying that he’s actually impressed. He doesn’t have much time to think about it, though, as Baekhyun is soon sinking himself down onto Yixing’s dick, sighing shakily, moaning gingerly, hands attempting for purchase on Yixing’s shoulders. His hands both return to Baek’s waist, a groan rising from his chest, his head rolling back and his eyes fluttering closed. Baekhyun’s rushed preparation makes for a tight squeeze, and it’s fucking _bliss._

 

Hips flush against hips, Baekhyun pauses to catch his breath, his chest falling against Yixing’s as he buries his face in the crook of his neck. His breath, his eyelashes, tickle, his ribs rapidly rising and falling with laboured breathing. Yixing slides his hands down from Baekhyun’s waist to his hips to his ass, kneading each cheek in his fists.

 

Baekhyun releases a pathetic moan against Yixing’s collarbone. “Please, Yixing,” he sighs and Yixing’s eyes shoot open.

 

“That’s the first time you’ve called me that.”

 

“What?”

 

“My name.”

 

Baekhyun sits up, looking down at Yixing’s face. He’s blushing a bit, or perhaps just flushed from exertion, but his eyes are flooded, saturated in a guilt that Yixing can’t quite comprehend. “Oh.”

 

Using his grip on Baekhyun’s ass, he forces the younger to rock his hips up, then down, causing both of them to shudder and moan. “Say it again.”

 

“Yixing,” Baekhyun gasps, falling into Yixing’s shoulder again and moving his hips on his own.

 

Through gritted teeth, Yixing commands, “again.”

 

“Yix _ing,_ ” Baekhyun is downright whimpering, now, setting his pace atop Yixing’s lap. It’s delicious, desperate, the way they rock together. Steam fogs the windows, he’s sure the car is bouncing on its shocks, Baekhyun’s needy moans filling up the space around their heads.

 

Yixing snakes his arms tight around Baekhyun’s back, holding him impossibly close, overwhelmed by how much of Baekhyun he’s feeling. From his tight, hot walls around him, his dick bouncing between their torsos, his heartbeat battering his ribs, his breath hot and damp on his neck. Yixing craves Baekhyun, when he isn’t around, and when he has him like this, so open and vulnerable and allowing Yixing to take, take, _take,_ it’s so satisfying. So perfect.

 

It’s shocking, how wonderfully they work together. In all aspects.

 

Baekhyun mouths his way up Yixing’s neck, along his jaw, toward his mouth. Their kiss is sloppy and unpracticed, all tongue and teeth and heady moans. Yixing swallows Baekhyun’s breaths and whimpers down willingly, eagerly, his favourite meal, he thinks. Baekhyun tastes like all the sugar he calls his coffee, so fittingly sweet that Yixing smiles against the kiss. Baekhyun reciprocates the smile, grinding down extra hard on Yixing’s cock and literally shouting when he hits where he feels it most.

 

“Touch me,” Baekhyun whimpers, mouth back against Yixing’s. “Please, Yixing, touch me.”

 

Yixing, feeling his own climax nearing, slides a hand between them to find Baekhyun’s dick. He hums into Baekhyun’s mouth as the latter physically quakes at the touch, sounding so broken and so desperate to come at this point.

 

And with a bite to Yixing’s bottom lip, he does. The way his body quivers and contracts with his orgasm pulls Yixing along, as well, a groan pushing up from his lungs, his head spinning and his skin tingling. Baekhyun kisses Yixing slowly, drowsily, for a moment as the aftershocks die down, and soon, Yixing reciprocates the kisses. He loves these kisses, the post-coital press of their mouths, slow and gentle and innocent. Just kissing to be kissed. Not leading to anything more.

 

“‘M too sleepy to drive, now,” Yixing mumbles. Baekhyun smiles down at him, patting his cheek fondly.

 

“Want me to give you a few slaps? Wake you up a bit.”

 

“No thank you,” Yixing says, helping Baekhyun off his softening cock and off his lap. They both hiss at the loss of contact, both still looking a tad hazy. Yixing shakes himself out of it, however. They have a talent competition to go to. “Get your clothes back on. Time to roll.”

 

\-----

 

Baekhyun, despite his nerves, performs flawlessly.

 

Yixing loves little affairs like this. They only let a thousand or so people into the venue, there’s local news stations from all over coming to cover the event. It isn’t hosted by a particular record label, and there’s no promise of a contract for the winner. It’s all in good fun, and for exposure for up-and-coming talent.

 

He decided to go with one of his sad songs, making the judges - including Minseok, though he’ll punch you before he admits to it - cry, earning himself the first place prize. He _does_ win a ton of money, and Yixing can’t help but notice a few scouting agents quirk an eyebrow at him. It fills Yixing’s chest with an odd sense of pride. And he’s sure, in the crowd, his smile matches Baekhyun’s in wattage as the latter’s name is announced.

 

Later that evening, after a celebratory dinner of the finest cuisine they could find in Busan, they lie in bed together, their cozy hotel room already a mess from Baekhyun trying to pick an outfit that morning. Their curtains are open, and beyond the window is a beautiful view of the city, the beach beyond it, the sky coated in a haze of twilight. It’s beautiful, and it illuminates Baekhyun’s skin with an ethereal silver light.

 

They’re exhausted, after a long day and too much food. Yixing is drifting off, soothed by Baekhyun’s fingers running up and down his bare back, eyes closed and oblivious to the way Baekhyun is watching his face fall into neutrality as sleep finds a home in the centre of Yixing’s chest.

 

“Yixing?” Baekhyun whispers.

 

“Hmmph,” is Yixing’s reply.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Muffled and mumbled into the pillow by Yixing’s mouth, comes, “for what?”

 

“For… everything.” There’s a sigh from Baekhyun’s lungs, the air tousling Yixing’s hair from them being so close. “I’m happy. I feel happy.”

 

Yixing wants to tell him that’s good, that he deserves it, that he’s elated with the revelation that _Baekhyun feels happy_ but his mouth won’t move and he’s soon plummeting into slumber, hoping he dreams of soft lips and softer words.

 

\-----

 

Despite the fact that Yixing had reinforced to Baekhyun over and over that he didn't need to bring a gift, the kid downright insisted.

 

“Besides,” he says from the passenger seat of Yixing’s car as they make their way into Gangnam on Christmas Eve. Traffic is brutal. “This gift is really for me, after all.”

 

Yixing chuckles, glancing at the bottle of Baekhyun’s favourite merlot wrapped in a paper bag, clutched to his chest. He can't argue with that logic, and knowing Baekhyun, that bottle will be gone by the end of the night anyway. He also knows Lu Han’s taste. He’ll probably help him get through it.

 

“Yixing I’m nervous,” Baekhyun says. Yixing figures that makes sense, though he dismissed Baekhyun’s jittery knees as his permanent state of restlessness. “I’m about to meet all your grown-up friends! I bet they're all rich and handsome and intimidating.”

 

Yixing laughs at that, making a right turn, letting out a sigh of relief at the sight of Minseok and Lu Han’s building ahead. “You’ve already met two of them, Baek. And Jongin’s your age, you’ll get along just fine.”

 

Baekhyun pouts, looking resolutely out the window. Yixing smiles over at him, unable to deny how disastrously cute Baekhyun is when he's acting like a literal toddler. Which is considerably often. They pull into the parking garage for the condo building, and Baekhyun blinks with wide eyes, shuddering even more violently.

 

“Quit being so nervous, Baek,” Yixing sighs, entirely exasperated. “They're not gonna kick you out or anything. Just be yourself, they'll love you.”

 

Baekhyun’s smile might just be the most cheeky, most insufferable thing Yixing’s ever seen. “Why, music man, are you trying to tell me I’m loveable?”

 

Yixing rolls his eyes, lifting a hand to muss up Baekhyun’s hair. He earns an indignant squawk as Baekhyun rushes to try to smooth it back out. “Yes, Baek. You're so loveable. Now, let's go.”

 

The doorman knows Yixing. The couple have been living in this condo for five years, now, and old Mr. Kim that mans the front lobby has come to know more about Yixing than a relative stranger probably should. He quirks an eyebrow at Yixing, looking pointedly at Baekhyun. Yixing smiles, bows politely, says, “Mr. Kim, this is Baekhyun. A great musician.”

 

“Ah, a musician, you say.” A friendly smile spreads across Mr. Kim’s aged, kind face. “I do hope you're behaving well for Mr. Zhang, here.”

 

And with his signature taste of mischief, Baekhyun singsongs a, “Sir, I can absolutely assure you, I never do.”

 

Mr. Kim laughs good naturedly, gesturing toward the elevator, as if Yixing didn't already know where it was. “Lovely to meet you, Baekhyun-ssi.” To Yixing, he says, “just about everyone else has already arrived.”

 

“Fashionably late,” Yixing smiles back at him, heading toward the elevator. “Perfect.”

 

He walks into the condo without knocking, as if he owns the place. Really, he’s putting on a _bit_ of a show to impress Baekhyun, who’s wide-eyed and uncharacteristically quiet. He glances over at Baekhyun, whispers to him some encouragement, before following the sounds of chatter and laughter into the living area.

 

Lu Han is, as always, bustling about the place like a bee. There’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that the man’s career is an event planner, always busy making sure everything is perfect, even his _own_ gatherings. Yixing immediately interrupts his path between the kitchen sink and the spread of food covering the dining table, pulling him into a hug.

 

“Hey, Han,” Yixing says as Lu Han hugs him back. “Congratulations, again.”

 

When they pull away, Han is beaming at him with glimmering eyes. Something catches his eye, and he looks over Yixing’s shoulder at Baekhyun, turning back to Yixing with raised eyebrows.

 

“Ah, Han, this is Baekhyun.” Lu Han’s expression looks as though he’s just discovered the answer to the meaning of life. “Baek, this is Lu Han. Minseok’s fiancé.”

 

Lu Han, being himself, immediately pulls Baekhyun into a friendly hug. Baekhyun looks surprised, sharing a look with Yixing over Han’s shoulder, to which Yixing just grins in response. Baekhyun is gonna get along with everyone just fine.

 

“It’s so nice to finally meet you!” Lu Han cheers as he pulls away. Turning to Yixing, he says, loud enough for Baekhyun to hear, “Minseok said he was cute, Xing, but I didn't expect him to be _this_ cute. Nice catch.”

 

Baekhyun beams so bright it's blinding, his cheeks tinting a little pink. “I brought wine.” He holds up the bottle. Lu Han is _elated_ over this fact.

 

“Let’s have a glass, shall we?”

 

Yixing, in hindsight, should have expected Han to immediately turn into mother hen around Baekhyun and whisk him away. It pleases Yixing, though, to see how Han excitedly drags Baekhyun to the kitchen, chatting earnestly with him about _whatever_ it is Han wants to know.

 

He decides to wander into the living area, where everyone else is. Everyone greets him excitedly, all holding glasses of _some_ sort of alcohol - excluding Joohyun - and a few of them are already looking a tad tipsy. Yixing greets everyone in return, even leaning over to where Joohyun sits in the leather recliner, hands braced on her enormous stomach, to give her a kiss to her temple.

 

“Hey, Joohyun, you look great,” he greets, glad to see her as it's been absolute ages.

 

She groans, patting the seat next to her. Yixing sits. “Do I really? Because I feel terrible.”

 

With a chuckle, Yixing reaches to feel her belly. From the corner of his eye, he can see Junmyeon watching on fondly. “When’s the little gal due to arrive?”

 

“Whenever she feels like it, apparently. Her eviction notice was delivered a couple days ago.”

 

Yixing laughs, but is soon distracted as Baekhyun and Han return from the kitchen, glasses of wine in hand. He smiles up at Baek, patting the - luckily empty - seat next to him, and Baekhyun struts on over, seating himself down gingerly. He knows he has all eyes on him. Yixing can't believe how much Baekhyun seems to be absolutely _glowing_ under all the attention.

 

“Everyone, this is Baekhyun,” Yixing says to the small group. Everyone cheers their greetings in response and Baekhyun blushes and beams. “The best voice in Seoul.”

 

“Cheers to that,” Minseok says, raising his glass before downing a sizeable sip of his drink.

 

The night carries on as usual. Baekhyun and Jongin - the label’s choreographer - immediately hit it off, rambling excitedly to each other about anime, much to Yixing’s delight. They all chat and they catch up. Everyone, obviously, predictably, takes a liking to Baekhyun, laughing loudly at his jokes and inquiring seemingly _everything_ they need to know about him. Baekhyun handles it all in stride, charming the pants off everyone, even after two more glasses of wine and a few victorious rounds of charades.

 

“Jongdae says hi to everyone,” Minseok says, at one point in the night, reading from his phone. “And that he’s sorry he can't be here.”

 

Everyone shouts their variations of _hello_ for Minseok to reply to Jongdae’s text while Baekhyun blinks around at everyone curiously.

 

“Jongdae?” Baekhyun says softly. “Like… as in Chen?”

 

And when Yixing responds with a nod, Baekhyun looks so starstruck it's laughable.

 

As the night continues, it gets incredibly late. Just about everyone is tipsy, or at the very least buzzed, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. Junmyeon and Joohyun departed a little while ago, not before they spent about ten minutes hugging everyone goodbye. Baekhyun is having the time of his life, giggly and red in the face, loving having any semblance of attention on him.

 

When Jongdae’s latest song comes on the radio, which was put on for background noise a while ago, Baekhyun lights up to about a million watts, immediately jumping from his seat to go turn it up.

 

“Music man, it's your song!” He announces, the abundance of pride audible in his voice.

 

Baekhyun decides to put on a makeshift performance, singing loudly - and rather flawlessly - along as he wanders about the living area. He grabs Minseok’s beer bottle off the coffee table, using it as a fake microphone as he makes a show of singing to every single person sitting in the room. Everyone is laughing, Lu Han is clapping along excitedly, bouncing in his seat, and Yixing can see that everyone is so _infatuated_ with Baekhyun, that constant ball of energy and light. Yixing watches on fondly, a silly smile splitting his face, giggling to himself because Baekhyun is so damn cute. And he makes everything around him about ten shades brighter.

 

Halfway through the second verse, Baekhyun decides he’s tired, flopping himself down into Yixing’s lap, bridal style, and panting with a huge smile on his face. Yixing smiles back at him, arms naturally finding their way around his waist.

 

He asks, “Do you ever feel an ounce of remorse when you leave a room?”

 

Baekhyun scrunches his nose, confused. “Hmm,” he says as he thinks. “Only if it’s a room you're in. Why?”

 

Yixing blushes, rolls his eyes, gives Baek a little nudge. “Oh, nothing. Just that you make any room so much brighter.”

 

“Why, Yixing, are you trying to get in my pants?” He flirts lowly, looking around sneakily as if it's the most scandalous thing he’s ever said.

 

“Hey, Xing?” Minseok pipes up. Yixing looks around Baekhyun to see Minseok where he sits across from them, looking studiously between the two of them. “Wanna help me grab some more drinks from the kitchen? Maybe bring the rest of the food out here?”

 

Yixing shrugs, though he isn't sure why he couldn't ask anyone else. “Sure.”

 

Baekhyun whines as he has to get off Yixing’s lap to let him out, but soon forgetting the inconvenience as Lu Han and Jongin are engaging him in conversation.

 

When he catches up with Minseok in the kitchen, he sees the other man leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyebrow quirked accusingly. Yixing raises his eyebrows at him, as if to ask _what?_ But, Minseok is not having it with his innocent act.

 

“You _said_ it was nothing,” Minseok says.

 

“It _is_ nothing,” Yixing answers, “really. I already told you, he’s all hung up on-”

 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Minseok interrupts, waving his hand in the air dismissively. “He might be in unrequited love with his friend, or whatever. But he’s _definitely_ in mutual love with you.”

 

Yixing just stands there a moment, trying to ignore how Minseok’s words feel kind of like a punch to the gut. Yixing knows one thing, and it’s that Minseok is terribly perceptive, and rarely wrong. He tries, searches in his mind for some sort of argument. Nothing is coming to him.

 

Minseok sighs. “Just admit it, Yixing. You're head over heels for the kid.”

 

Yixing tries to fight it, but he's soon huffing in defeat, stepping in closer so he can speak lower. “Okay, fine. I’m in love with him.” Yixing didn't realize how much relief would rise from his chest and lift off his shoulders with the vocalization of those words. “But I promised him I wouldn't fall in love with him. So, he can't know, he’ll be upset, I-”

 

“Who the fuck cares about a promise?” Minseok says, stepping around Yixing to grab a plate of appetizers from the counter. “I think the promise can safely be revoked at this point. He’s enamoured by you, Yixing. It's painfully obvious.”

 

Yixing sighs, grabbing another plate of food and the open bottle of sparkling wine. He follows Minseok back out to the living room. Baekhyun is saying something, and the others are laughing, and Yixing can't help but smile at the warmth in his chest, now that he’s admitted - to both himself and his best friend - that what he feels for Baekhyun is much more than what was expected, what was intended. It isn't as terrifying as he thought it may be. He sits down next to Baekhyun, putting a hand on the small of his back, laughing at the others’ laughter.

 

“What are we talking about?” Yixing asks with a grin.

 

“You,” Baekhyun answers easily. The sparkle in his eyes as he says so, glancing between Yixing’s own… perhaps it’s just a hopefulness, a mere reflection of his own feelings, but it looks to Yixing like Minseok just might know what he’s talking about.

 

“Too much,” Jongin laughs, wiping at a tear as it spills from the corner of his eye. “Lu Han is asking for too much information.” He curls into another fit of laughter. Yixing blushes furiously.

 

“Byun Baekhyun,” he scolds. He earns a shit-eating grin in response. He’s so cheeky. And cute, and funny, and Yixing could probably never be mad at him.

 

“What?” Baekhyun asks, batting his eyelashes innocently. “Lu Han asked.”

 

“I don't even wanna know,” Yixing says, shaking his head. He glances at the clock, noting how late it is and winces. “Wanna head out soon?”

 

Baekhyun nods, before leaning forward and pecking Yixing on the cheek. “Thank you for bringing me. I like your friends. They laugh when I make fun of you.”

 

Yixing rolls his eyes, but before he can say anything, Lu Han is piping up.

 

“Please,” he says, “please bring him around more often. I love this boy.”

 

_That makes two of us,_ Yixing almost says.

 

\-----

 

Yixing is buzzing with excitement as he walks through the halls of the hospital. Usually, hospitals make Yixing cringe, so grey and sterile and a visual reminder of sickness and death. But today. Today it's a visual reminder of life and joy.

 

He finds the room number Junmyeon had texted him. He knocks lightly, in case the baby is sleeping, and enters at the sound of Junmyeon calling out for him to come in.

 

Joohyun is lying in the bed with the baby on her chest. Her hair is a bit damp around her hairline, her eyes exhausted. Yixing sets down the balloons he brought, tucking the teddy bear into a corner of the bed, leans down to kiss Joohyun on the forehead. “You look great, sweetheart,” he says, honestly, “I’m so happy for you.”

 

Joohyun smiles sleepily up at him as he pulls away. “Always such a charmer,” Joohyun whispers, her voice rough around the edges. “Good to see you, Xing.”

 

Yixing smiles, turning to pull Junmyeon into a vice-like embrace. He can feel Junmyeon smiling against his shoulder and he smiles in response, squeezing extra tight around his shoulders before pulling away.  

 

“Congrats, man,” Yixing beams, “words can't describe how happy I am for you guys.”

 

Junmyeon’s eyes look the faintest bit watery as he smiles back. He looks down at the baby curled up against his wife’s chest, breathing slow, steady, sleepy breaths. Yixing has never seen a more pure, loving expression on anyone's face.

 

“You wanna hold her?” Joohyun asks, gingerly using gentle hands to lift the baby off her chest. “Our little darling Kim Nari?”

 

Yixing smiles, reaching out and taking the baby from Joohyun as carefully as possible. “Nari,” he says. “Cute.”

 

He sees Junmyeon smile from the corner of his eye, but all his attention is now on the sleeping child in his arms. He can't believe how tiny she is, her little button nose, her sleepy little pout as she quietly snores on. His heart feels full to bursting, like he's holding the most precious, fragile thing in the world. Which, likely, he is.

 

“Ah, Joohyun,” Yixing smirks, “she's got your good looks.”

 

Joohyun smiles while Junmyeon groans. “I knoowwww,” he whines as quietly as possible. “I’m doomed.”

 

Yixing laughs, softly. They sit and they chat - whisper, moreso - about how everything went. About their kind nurses and they're good natured doctors. Joohyun, understandably exhausted, begins drifting off partway through their conversation. There’s a lull, as they both just watch the baby sleep in Yixing’s arms. Her little chest rising and falling with her breaths, her little fingers curling around nothing.

 

“How’s Baekhyun?” Jun asks after a moment.

 

Yixing doesn't look up from the baby to answer, “He’s good.” The smile on his face widens. “He had a bunch of meetings with record labels today.”

 

Junmyeon sits forward in his seat, intrigued. “Oh? Including ours?”

 

“I think so, actually.” Yixing runs gentle fingers through the fair tuft of hair on her head. He can't believe how _soft_ she is. “He got a lot of attention in Busan. Sent out a few demos after a whole bunch of people got ahold of him.”

 

“Demos?” Junmyeon asks with a furrowed brow. He reaches out, and Yixing tenderly places Nari in her father's arms.

 

“Yeah, he came by the studio a few weeks ago just to record a few songs for fun.”

 

Junmyeon hums. He doesn't answer right away, and Yixing figures it's because he's distracted by the tiny, beautiful person in his arms. His finest accomplishment, Yixing notes.

 

“You’ve done an awful lot for him, huh?” Junmyeon finally says. There was such a drawn out lull between words exchanged that it takes Yixing a moment to register what he’s referring to. “Free vocal lessons, free studio time. You got him into that talent show last minute-”

 

“Minseok did that,” Yixing corrects.

 

“Still. You've done a lot for him.” Nari starts to stir, her pout intensifying as she squints dark eyes open, staring up at her dad. He smiles down in response, in greeting, and Yixing feels like he can roll over and die, it's all so cute. “I hope Baek realizes all you've given him.”

 

Yixing hums, frowning. “I think he does.”

 

There’s no doubt that Baekhyun knows. There's no doubt that Baekhyun is grateful. He’s voiced on various occasions that he’s grateful for Yixing, has thanked him in word and in deed. Why Junmyeon is bringing this up, he has no idea.

 

It’s then that Nari decides to begin shrieking. She sobs as Junmyeon rocks her and Joohyun stirs awake, alarmed. The three of them busy themselves trying to calm the baby down, and the conversation is forgotten. Mostly.

 

\-----

 

New Year’s Eve is spent in a little, charming, hole-in-the-wall jazz bar that Yixing would have never discovered if he hadn't stumbled in to keep dry on a rainy October night. He watches Baekhyun perform, his last performance at the lounge, as he’s just signed a 5-year contract with a small, independent, trustworthy record label.

 

“I don't want to sell out,” Baekhyun had said, deciding on this label. “They want me to make my music my way. I love that.”

 

Yixing is happy. He’s drunk and he’s happy. Once Baekhyun’s performance had ended, the lounge owner let Baekhyun off the clock so he could celebrate the new year and the new start to his music career. Their drinks are on the house and they totally overdo it. Just the two of them, laughing at each other and stumbling over each other as they try to foxtrot near the stage, enjoying each other’s company and ignoring the pointed looks they receive from other patrons.

 

When they stumble into Yixing’s apartment, not long after midnight, they're a giggling, sloppy mess. They undress haphazardly as Baekhyun gives him about a million “New Years Kisses” until they're literally falling into bed, still giggling, still kissing. Sloppy and drunk and happy, they are. Until they're falling asleep. Yixing is certain they're both still laughing in their sleep.

 

The light is a merciless villain to a pair of hungover eyes, and Yixing is throbbing in too many places for it to be considered healthy. He’s far too old to be drinking like that, anymore. His body is exhausted and angry at him, kicking him in the ribs and beating at the inside of his skull. He’s just far too old, and it's awfully sad.

 

Baekhyun, however, isn't. He’s clearly a tad hungover but he’s considerably more chipper, more mobile, already waltzing into the room with Aspirin, a glass of water, and a full pot of coffee. A fluffy, mostly nude Baekhyun carrying the three things he needs most in life? Yixing could get used to a sight like this.

 

“Good morning,” Baekhyun says softly, sweetly, placing the pot of coffee on the bedside table. He feeds Yixing the Aspirin himself, even holds the glass as Yixing downs the water, and Yixing is so full of adoration for this boy. So soft and so pretty and taking such good care of him. Yixing smiles, content, still hardly sitting up in bed, and Baekhyun stoops down to kiss Yixing, slow and pleasant. A hum rises from Yixing’s chest, and Baekhyun pulls away. “I’ll go grab the mugs.”

 

Yixing watches as Baekhyun trods away and down the hallway, smirking to himself over the fact that he’s pretty sure those are _his_ boxer briefs Baekhyun’s wearing. They look better on his ass, anyway.  

 

Baekhyun returns with two mugs, a spoon with cream and sugar in his own, handing Yixing his mug and climbing back onto the bed. He sits close. They whisper idle words to each other as Yixing pours the coffee and they sip somehow languidly and greedily at the same time. The headache has mostly dulled, at this point, and Baekhyun’s skin is warm at his side and the coffee is warm on his lips and his throat. The white light casting in from the windows is suddenly less abhorring, and it makes Baekhyun’s skin look so dewy and youthful, his eyes so gentle and glittery.

 

Yixing thinks he might tell Baekhyun he loves him today. It feels like a good day to do so.

 

They fall back asleep. It’s too warm where they're cocooned together under the sheets but Yixing doesn't mind it. It’s perfect, he thinks, because if it were any less hot he would miss the warmth. And while sleep usually feels as though no time has passed, Yixing feels hyperaware of every moment that passes as they rest peacefully together, wrapped up into each other and welcoming the afternoon with closed eyelids and steady breaths.

 

Yixing, predictably, awakens before Baekhyun. He lays there a long moment, his face pressed into the mess of Baekhyun's hair. It smells like Yixing’s lemongrass shampoo, as that’s what Baekhyun’s been using an awful lot of lately. He’s so soft, Yixing thinks. His hair, his skin, his lips, his eyes. He’s all soft edges and Yixing thinks it's perfect.

 

His words, sometimes, are sharp, though. And his teeth, those vicious canines, disguised behind the softest, sweetest lips Yixing’s ever seen. He is so dangerous. And Yixing has probably never loved something so greatly.

 

Baekhyun slowly rises from slumber, sleepily kissing Yixing’s mouth before he stretches and groans. All soft.

 

Before anything more can be done, or maybe even said, Baekhyun’s phone buzzes on the other side of the bed. Then it buzzes again. And again. Baekhyun groans, rolls over, mumbles, “Who the fuck is texting me in the middle of the afternoon?” as if it’s the most absurd thing he's ever heard of. But once he unlocks his phone he goes quiet and his spine goes rigid. And before Yixing can ask what's up, Baek is shooting out from under the sheets and scrambling about for clothes.

 

Yixing sits up, brows furrowed, watching as Baekhyun scrambles about the room to find his clothes. He’s about to ask what’s wrong when Baekhyun starts spitting, “His fucking girlfriend, I swear,” under his breath. Yixing’s jaw clenches, and his shoulders hunch in defeat.

 

“Sehun?” He asks, though he knows the answer.

 

Baekhyun looks up at him, pulling his sweater over his head. “Yeah,” he says, bitterly. “She locked him out ‘cause he was too drunk to drive home last night and crashed at Chanyeol’s.” Yixing keeps watching as Baekhyun runs about, grabbing his wallet, his jacket, his keys. “He’s at my place right now, thought I would be there. Wondering why I’m not around.”

 

“He has a key to your place?” Yixing doesn't know why _that_ fact hurts so much.

 

“Of course,” Baek shrugs, easily. “I gotta go.”

 

It’s the last thing Baekhyun says before he’s gone. He didn't say a proper goodbye, let alone kiss him goodbye, or, well, anything. Yixing sits there a moment, staring at the last spot he saw Baekhyun before the latter disappeared.

 

Groaning, he flops back down on the bed, tossing an arm over his eyes. He hates this, because he’s bitter, and he doesn't want to be that person. He doesn't want to be jealous, envious, of what Sehun has - but doesn't realize, let alone appreciate. It’s unfair of Yixing to be so upset about this. Baekhyun is not his to claim, and he knew getting into this that Baekhyun gave himself to someone else a long time ago.

 

It just hurts. Knowing that, to Baekhyun, he’ll only ever be a second choice.

 

It dampens his mood, his headache returns, and he sulks around his apartment all day. He makes more coffee and forces himself to eat something and plops down on his couch and doesn't pay attention to the television. With a sour mood comes sour thoughts.

 

Sour thoughts like what Junmyeon said to him a few days ago, about how much Yixing has done for Baekhyun. About the free studio time and the exposure and even finishing a song he couldn't complete on his own. About how Baekhyun only started sleeping with him once Yixing proved he was _useful._ About how that first night, when Yixing had stood in Baekhyun’s apartment and told him it was hard to infiltrate the music industry and Baekhyun had said something that Yixing didn't even think twice about at the time.

 

_“Not if you know the right people.”_

 

Yixing sits up, his body aching, his brows pinched together in distaste. That’s it. That’s all. Yixing, to Baekhyun, has always been the _right people._

 

The way Baekhyun lit up at the knowledge that Yixing works in the industry. The way he didn't mind that Yixing brought friends to his shows - it's likely he expected them to be scouting agents. Yixing gave Baekhyun everything he needs. And he fooled himself into believing that he might _mean something_ to Baekhyun. He fooled himself into thinking it was okay to fall in love with him, because maybe Baekhyun could love him, too.

 

Baekhyun, however, is loyal to a fault. And no matter how many times Baek picks up the pieces that Sehun calls his relationship, Baekhyun will never have what he wants.

 

It’s sad, and it's ugly, and Yixing suddenly realizes how unnecessarily exhausting it is for him to be a part of this, nothing but a third party, yearning for someone that conned him, involving himself for no other reason than that he likes the way Baekhyun sounds when he laughs. His stomach hurts and his chest feels hollow. How dare he let himself fall for the kid? A kid, who still doesn't know what he truly wants, who’s blinded by a love that won't be reciprocated, that feels it's okay to use people in order to gain.

 

He grabs his phone. He has a couple messages from Baekhyun.

 

_this is messy but what's new? he’ll be fine tho...probably_

 

_coffee tmrw? pcy says he’s been missin u_

 

He ignores both messages, opening his conversation with Minseok.

 

_You were wrong,_ he types. _You were wrong and you owe me an apology for getting my hopes up._

 

He tosses his phone to the other end of the couch and huffs. He’s angry. He’s sad. He wishes Baekhyun could just, perhaps, even if just a little bit, love him back.

 

\-----

 

When Yixing doesn't talk to Baekhyun in four days, it causes alarm for the latter. He calls Yixing six times in a row, while Yixing is sitting on the floor by his coffee table, eating dinner alone, deliberately ignoring the insistent buzz of his phone. The seventh call, he gives up.

 

“I have a question for you,” he answers, in place of a greeting.

 

Baekhyun, clearly startled, takes a moment to respond. “Uh… uh, yeah. Go ahead.”

 

Yixing takes a deep breath, purposely attempts to loosen the tension in his jaw. “Did you invite me in that first night we met, show me your music, let me take you under my wing, sleep with me, make yourself as irresistible as _humanly possible_ because of the things that I could do for your career?”

 

Baekhyun is audibly taken aback. Yixing can hear the panic in his breath, he can _feel_ the way Baekhyun feels exposed. His silence is all the answer Yixing needs.

 

“Got it,” he bites. “You left some of your sheet music here. Some clothes, too. Come get them whenever.”

 

Yixing is just about to hang up when Baekhyun interrupts him.

 

“I’m sorry, Yixing,” Baekhyun says in that soft, fragile voice that always has Yixing's heart skipping a beat or two. He’s filled with another flood of rage, sick of being so malleable for Baekhyun like this. “I never intended for things to get this far.”

 

“I don't care.” And he hangs up, tossing his phone down onto the table and putting his face in his hands.

 

Baek was right, that first night, sitting at his piano. He really is no fun to love.

 

\-----

 

Luckily, Yixing is kept busy. He’s been assigned to produce the debut album for some new girl group the label has put together. They're all adorable, all very sweet, all have lovely voices and good manners. A few of them clearly have little crushes on him, and it's amusing, and working with them is pleasant. He feels kinda bad that all his song ideas, at the moment, are so angsty and vengeful. Especially for a group of such sweet girls.

 

It’s when he’s just getting home on a thursday night, after a long day of recording, that he gets a message from Baekhyun.

 

_coming to grab my things. see u soon._

 

Yixing sighs, spine going rigid and shoulders rising to his ears. He doesn't want to see Baekhyun, the wounds still too fresh. He’s been hurt, and he’s disappointed, and he’s terrified of all the things he’ll feel upon seeing him. Because Baekhyun is many things, and beautiful, certainly, is one of them.

 

He debates going and collecting Baek’s things for him and leaving them at the front door. But it hurts to think about finding Baekhyun’s shirts in his closet and taking them out, himself. He’s also a bit of a masochist, apparently, anticipating seeing Baekhyun despite his nerves and the dry, metallic taste in his mouth.

 

There’s a knock on his door, and Yixing didn't even realize he was just sitting and waiting for it. He gets up from his seat at the kitchen island, approaching the door, praying to whoever’s listening that this doesn't physically kill him. All hope is gone, however, when he opens the door and sees him standing there.

 

His hair is still shaggy, this time unkempt. His eyes are tired and his shoulders sag and, for the first time ever, he looks _uncomfortable_ in his suit. He smiles, though small. Says, “Hey.”

 

“Hi,” Yixing replies, stepping aside to let Baek in. He says nothing more.

 

It’s painful, really, standing idly by while Baekhyun wanders about the apartment, finding things that belong to him. The difference between how things were just a couple weeks ago, until now, it's stark.

 

Yixing, without even realizing, starts speaking. “Is that why it took you forever to start calling me by my name? Give the fish a name and you'll feel bad eating it?”

 

Baekhyun freezes in his ministrations, now in the studio while Yixing stands in the doorway. He sighs, continuing sifting through his folder of sheet music, purposely avoiding looking in Yixing’s direction. “Like I said, I didn't intend for things to get this far.”

 

“You couldn't have just told me?” Yixing asks, shrugging, crossing his arms even tighter around his chest. “You couldn't have just asked me to help you with this like a professional instead of stringing me on and-”

 

“I’m mad at you, too, you know!” Baekhyun bites back, standing up straight and facing Yixing with his entire body. “You broke your promise!”

 

“That’s unfair, Baekhyun!” Yixing shouts back. He takes one, two, steps closer, leaning into Baekhyun’s space. “How dare you make me promise that and then do everything in your power to make me love you!”

 

Baekhyun frowns at him, clenches his jaw, steps around him to stalk toward the bedroom. Yixing follows after him, still speaking.

 

“You _used_ me, Baek,” he’s saying, bitter, exhausted. “You used me because you wanted to make it big, and you used me because you were cold and lonely because the man you love will never love you back!”

 

Baekhyun spins on his heel, pushing a palm into the middle of Yixing’s chest and shoving him. “Fuck you!” There are tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. “Fuck you, Yixing,” he says, softer this time. He takes a breath, like he’s about to say more, but instead, turns away and continues searching through the closet for his things.

 

“It hurts, Baek.”

 

“I know what hurt feels like, Yixing,” Baekhyun murmurs, voice curled and dripping in distaste. “Why don't you write a fucking song about it?”

 

Yixing, searching for the next thing to say, is surprised when Baekhyun continues.

 

“I used your career to boost mine,” he says. He finds a shirt, tosses it into the little pile that's already forming. “But I didn't sleep with you, I didn't kiss you, I didn't… all that was because I wanted to and because I…”

 

Yixing waits for him to continue, but he doesn't. A rush of something hopeful fills Yixing from head to toe. Unfortunately, the sourness in his voice remains when he says, “Because you what, Baekhyun?”

 

Baekhyun just continues collecting his things.

 

“Say it, Baekhyun.”

 

“Because I love you, fuck.”

 

It doesn't feel as good to hear as Yixing expected it. He’s grown real tired of feeling miserable and pessimistic. So he digs.

 

“Why was that so hard to say? Why is it so difficult to let yourself fall in love, hm?”

 

Baekhyun sighs in defeat. He turns to Yixing, an image of shattered glass, of obstructed light and of sleepless nights. Yixing’s first instinct is to reach out, touch, heal. He stops himself, though.

 

“Because love has only ever hurt,” Baekhyun supplies. It’s a weak, unjust argument, and it makes Yixing angry all over again.

 

He rolls his eyes, raises his arms to his sides like he’s asking heaven to drop itself down into his grip. He’s tired. “The only reason you think that,” he says, “is because you've only ever given your heart to someone who doesn't even realize it's in his back pocket when he sits down!”

 

Baekhyun laughs, though it’s damp with a trickle of tears. “You're right.” He sniffles, rubs his nose with the back of his hand. “But wrong.”

 

“Wrong?”

 

Baekhyun closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. He says, “You know you have it, now, right?” And Yixing’s own heart halts in his chest. “You're aware you have it, so please, for the love of God, be careful with it.”

 

He’s frozen in place, it feels. His feet are glued to the floor and his eyes are glued to Baekhyun’s face, the way he looks so honest, so genuine, so vulnerable when he looks at Yixing that way. His eyes, so soft, gazing at Yixing as if urging him to do, say, something. He smiles softly, somewhat sadly, and Yixing sucks in a breath of air and realizes he hadn't been breathing.

 

Baekhyun has given him his heart. Baekhyun is broken and lost and still has a lot to figure out for himself, but Yixing will gladly, gratefully, with honour, accept Baekhyun's heart and ensure that it doesn't break. That’s what he needs, right now. Someone who will cherish it. Someone like, well, Yixing.

 

One step, two steps, reaching out to grab the back of Baekhyun’s neck. When they kiss, Yixing hears the sound of the sun setting. It’s silent but it’s profound. A beautiful trickle down after a long day’s work. Warmth and light before the cool silver of twilight. Baekhyun sighs against him, visibly softens, the tension draining from him and turning him into putty in Yixing’s hold. So he holds tight, keeps him there, assures, through his kisses, that Baekhyun’s heart will be perfectly safe.

 

He still has some things to work out with him. He’s still upset that Baekhyun took advantage of him for his own gain. He’s still upset that Baekhyun wasn't honest from the start.

 

But this is a fresh start. And Yixing can work with this.

 

Besides, the journey from heartbreak to healing makes for some beautiful music.

 

\-----

 

Yixing would be lying if he said he wasn't jealous that it isn't _him_ that's in charge of producing Baekhyun’s music. He takes a bit of pride in the fact that he, really, kinda made Baekhyun who he is. He helped him perfect that instrument he calls his voice. Yixing was the guiding force that urged Baekhyun into where he is today.

 

But, whether or not it was Yixing who made this album for him, it’s incredible.

 

The final masters for Baekhyun’s first album was just completed earlier today, and Baekhyun had positively skipped home to wave the CD in Yixing’s face, beaming with excitement. Yixing, equally excited for his boyfriend, grinned back and allowed Baekhyun to force him into bed, grab the walkman Yixing has stored away for reasons he doesn't even know, put the headphones over Yixing’s ears, and press play.

 

He’s about five songs in. Baekhyun’s been lying against his chest the whole time, just waiting for Yixing to finish. He’s clearly anxious, drawing circles with his fingertips into Yixing’s chest and stomach. He smiles into the fabric of Yixing’s shirt every time Yixing hums in approval, or pats Baekhyun’s hair as if to say _good, very good._

 

Baekhyun’s voice is pure and smooth and viscous like molasses. Some of the songs, Yixing recognizes. Others are new. Every song has a hint of seductiveness behind the obvious sorrow or joy - whichever the song calls for. It's a perfect album. He’s so, unbelievably, extraordinarily proud.

 

When he gets to the final song, his dreamy smile drops in realization. It’s their song, the _Ode to You_ and Yixing's heart is doing acrobatics in his chest, his stomach bursting into butterflies. He feels warm all over, and insurmountably comfortable, and when it ends, the album finishes, and Yixing takes his headphones off, unable to control the smile that’s splitting his face.

 

Baekhyun lifts up into his elbows, crowding Yixing’s space with sparkling, curious eyes.

 

“Thoughts?” He asks.

 

“I love you,” Yixing answers with a smile.

 

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, but gives in and plants a quick peck to Yixing’s lips. “I meant about the album.”

 

“I know,” Yixing says, leaning forward to catch Baekhyun’s lips in another kiss. “And my _thoughts_ are that I love you.”

 

Baekhyun hums, deciding he's content with that answer. “I love you too.” Another kiss, another smile. “Lots of hard work pays off, huh?”

 

And Yixing supposes that’s true. That a lot of things are like a song. They start small, slowly build, and sometimes you'll encounter obstacles that hinders the creation. But lots of hard work becomes something beautiful.

 

“What are you smiling at?” Baekhyun asks, mirroring Yixing’s soft smile.

 

“You better put my name in the credits for that song.”

 

Baekhyun giggles, a sound Yixing moreso feels than hears. “Which name? Zhang Yixing or Lay?”

 

Yixing hums, pushing his fingers through Baekhyun’s bangs, smiling at the way his boyfriend will always lean in contentedly to head scratches. He thinks about his question, and how Yixing always produced anonymously so that he doesn't have to be so wide open, exposed about the way he feels. But he thinks about the song, and how he wrote his half about Baekhyun, even if he hardly knew him at the time. And he figures if he were to have his name on any song, he'd want it to be that one.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: bbhsteeth  
> tumblr: taetaeofficial


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